


Calenlass: Heart of a Prince

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: Greenleaf and Imladris [21]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fourth Age, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 76,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A steadfast warrior decides he’s had his fill of waiting and sets out to capture his beloved prince’s reluctant heart. Twenty-first story in a series chronicling the millennia-spanning relationship of Legolas and Elrohir from the moment they meet beneath the eaves of Greenwood the Great to the years of the War of the Ring and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offence is intended or profit made in my use of them._
> 
> First story in the series set in the Fourth Age. According to tradition, the Dúnedain passed on when their heirs reached ninety years of age. If Aragorn’s son, Eldarion, was ninety at the time of his father’s death, obviously he wasn’t born until nearly thirty years after his parents’ wedding. But the date of his birth is not stated in the books and so I’ve taken the liberty of having it occur much earlier.

Gondor, _Gwaeron_ F.A. 1  
The Queen of Gondor gently lifted her firstborn son from his cradle. Smiling with maternal pride and joy, Arwen Undómiel turned to the four Elves who watched her with indulgent smiles.

The older of her twin brothers peered at the face of his newborn nephew. Elladan shared a chuckle with his wife, Nimeithel. “He looks like you, Arwen. What say you, Legolas?” 

The youngest prince of Northern Eryn Lasgalen, the great forest once known as Mirkwood, stepped forward and gazed at the babe. The child was raven-haired like his parents and very fair. Legolas thought he did have a strong resemblance to Arwen. 

“Aye, he is more like an Elf than a human child.”

“That must irk Estel that his heir looks so little like him,” Elrohir remarked much to his siblings’ amusement. 

He bent to get a closer look. At that moment, the babe focused his gaze on him. The infant’s eyes widened at the sight of the raven-haired lord. With a gurgle, he insistently reached out to his uncle.

Taken aback, Elrohir glanced at Arwen with raised eyebrows. With a soft laugh, she handed her babe to her brother. He cradled the child in his arms. 

“Well met, Eldarion,” the Elf murmured. 

As if in response, the infant prince grasped at the raven hair that spilled over the Elf’s shoulders. He then broke into a wide toothless smile.

Arwen’s eyes widened. “Why, that is the first time he has ever smiled,” she observed. “He has obviously taken to you, Uncle Elrohir.” 

“I am glad,” Elrohir grinned. 

“Like father, like son,” Elladan chuckled. “You may very well have him following you about some day, _gwanneth_ , just as Estel did,” he added.

“I will not mind,” Elrohir smiled. He stroked the curved ridge of a tiny ear with his finger and laughed when Eldarion cooed with pleasure.

“You will if he comes to think of you as his pet and insists on knowing your every thought and move,” Elladan warned with a smirk. “Or even worse, dictates what you can or cannot do.”

“You have a gift with children,” Legolas said. “They always respond to you in just that way.”

"'Tis a response worth having even if it is but from a babe,” said Elrohir softly. 

Legolas glanced up at him. There had been something in his friend’s tone that he could not quite place. 

Elladan reached out and clasped a hand on his twin’s shoulder. Legolas noted that the older twin seemed to squeeze his brother’s shoulder comfortingly and wondered why. 

"'Tis a pity Lord Elrond could not be here to see him, _gwanur_ ,” Nimeithel said to Arwen. “He would have been very proud to call him grandson.” 

Arwen smiled a little sadly. “I had hoped he would stay on a little longer,” she admitted to her law-sister, “to at least see this first grandchild.” 

Elrohir shook his head. “It would have been yet another loss to bear, _muinthel_ ”—sister—he said. “I think _Ada_ did not wish to know and love his grandchild only to be parted from him at the last.” 

Arwen sighed a little mournfully in agreement. 

Nimeithel sought to dispel the pensive mood she had inadvertently introduced. “I would remind you of your promise to come to Imladris this _Ivanneth_ , Arwen,” she said. “It will be the twins’ first begetting day celebration since your father’s departure.” 

The Queen brightened. “Most assuredly, Estel and I will be there. We would not miss it even should all the orcs of Middle-earth stand in our path! And we shall bring Eldarion with us. I cannot bear to be parted from him overlong. Do you know he already has several offers of marriage?” she suddenly giggled. “And him but a babe!”

Legolas shared a chuckle with Elladan. “I wonder how Estel will choose for him one day,” the older twin said. “It will be no small feat, I imagine.”

“We have agreed that he will marry for love and not just political expediency,” Arwen said firmly. “‘Tis inconceivable that my son should languish in a loveless marriage when his own parents were allowed their choice.”

“He is fortunate then,” Elrohir said. “He will have a surfeit of maids to choose from and mayhap will never know the travails of love. Would that all of us were so blessed.”

Arwen looked at him with some surprise. “You are not your merry self, _tôr nîn_ ”—my brother—she said. “Is something wrong?”

The younger twin only smiled. “Nay, _thel neth_ ”—younger sister—he averred. “What could be wrong? I was merely remembering a time past when my life seemed so simple and straightforward.” He pressed a gentle kiss to a petal-smooth cheek, causing Eldarion to snortle happily. He handed his nephew back to Arwen. “Now, if you will excuse me, I think I shall return to my room.”

With that, he departed. Somehow, he left an impression that the time he spoke of had nothing to do with the age that had just passed. What he truly meant Elladan and perhaps Nimeithel seemed to know but neither was talking.

*********************************  
Glossary:  
Gwaeron - Sindarin for March  
F.A. - Fourth Age  
gwanneth – younger twin  
Ada – Papa  
gwanur – ‘brother’ or ‘sister’ but a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman  
Ivanneth - Sindarin for September

_To be continued..._


	2. I. Reunion

Minas Tirith, _Nórui_ F.A. 20  
Legolas stepped out of his room in the pavilion housing the private quarters of the royal family in the Citadel of Minas Tirith. It had been many years since he had walked the High City’s winding lanes for much of his time had been spent in the province of Ithilien.

As he had promised Aragorn, now King Elessar, he had brought south with him Elves of the Woodland Realm and established a haven in the region oft called the garden of Gondor. The Elves were restoring its beauty and grace even as they helped secure it against the last of the marauding orcs and renegade Men of the fallen Dark Lord. 

He had come to Minas Tirith for a special occasion that merited great celebration. It was in honor of the betrothal of King Elessar and Queen Arwen’s only son, Eldarion, to the granddaughter of one of Gondor’s most noble princes, Imrahil of Dol Amroth. The King and Queen had asked the Elven prince to attend the festivities. They had couched the invitation in language that made it clear they would not accept a refusal. And so Legolas had returned after an absence of nearly six years.

He made his way down the corridor, his feet hardly making a sound on the stone floors. He was dressed formally as the occasion demanded. With a circlet wrought of silver and gold woven together upon his fair hair and garbed in a knee-length, intricately embroidered aquamarine robe over a white silken under-tunic, finely knit dark grey hose and ankle high light shoes, he was a vision the likes of which was rarely seen in the realms of Men in these later days. It was in this wondrous guise that the two who came around the bend in the corridor first beheld him.

“Legolas! You are here!”

The Elf smiled at the nineteen-year-old prince who stared at him with delight. In him he saw much of his mother and glimpses of his father. He grinned as the young man hurriedly approached him and enclosed him in a warm hug. He glanced up and recognized the prince’s companion.

“Elrohir!” he said with pleasure. “You have returned to Minas Tirith so soon, _mellon nîn_.”—my friend.

“Aye,” the younger twin replied, returning the prince’s tight embrace. “Elladan and I would not miss our nephew’s betrothal.”

He was as breathtakingly beautiful as the last time Legolas had seen him during his latest visit to the City of the Kings. His stately raiment only further emphasized the comeliness of his face and form. He was arrayed in deep sapphire, muted silver and stark black, colors that went well with his long obsidian locks and twilight eyes. Attired as Legolas in the formal style of the Elves of Greenwood, one he and Elladan had avidly adopted millennia ago, he wore a short, open robe that did not conceal his lean, muscular frame or long and supple legs. On his head was a simple circlet of pure _mithril_ , the only indication of his status as one of the twin Lords of Rivendell. But even without it, there was no mistaking that here was one who wielded great power in the court of Gondor. 

“They did not tell us you had arrived,” Eldarion said with a touch of pique. “Had we known we would have been the first to welcome you.”

“I know, _pen neth_ ”—young one—Legolas said soothingly. “But I believe you were both busy with other matters and they thought it best not to disturb you.”

“Nothing is so important that we could not lay it aside for a while to greet you,” Eldarion said seriously. “Is that not so, Uncle?” 

Legolas’s heart warmed at the young man’s words. He had watched the prince of Gondor grow from infancy to early manhood and was very fond of him. But it was Elrohir whom Eldarion positively adored and hero-worshipped just as his own father had done many years ago in Rivendell. Uncle and nephew were so close that Aragorn had been heard to occasionally complain that his heir would sooner listen to the Elf-twin than his own parents to which Elrohir would good-naturedly retort that he had been much the same and so had no right to grumble.

Legolas could understand their closeness. His own friendship with the boy’s father had started and developed along the same lines though naturally with less intimacy than Aragorn had had with his foster-brothers. It was a friendship that had outlived conflict and war and still prevailed in times of relative peace. But it was during the Quest of the Ring that it had come to its full strength. 

The Quest. How long before the memories faded... Legolas swiftly brushed them aside. That was past and it was fruitless to dwell on it now. He turned his attention in full to the others and noticed the intent gaze Elrohir had trained on him.

“Your thoughts were elsewhere,” Elrohir said softly. Legolas did not miss the ever so slight accusatory tone. 

“Forgive me,” Legolas apologized. "'Twas just that I was reminded of something else.”

“The Quest,” the darkling Elf said flatly. “You get that look on your face when that is on your mind.” 

Legolas looked at him a little surprised. Was there some bitterness there or had he imagined it? Before he could respond, however, a young maiden approached them hurriedly. She was very lovely and carried herself with the grace of one born into nobility.

“Eldarion, we have been looking for you!” she exclaimed. She stopped when she realized just whom the prince was with. 

Eldarion grinned as he recognized the look of appreciation she gave the Elves. It never failed. Elrohir and Legolas had the kind of beauty that drew the eyes of men and women alike. She shyly smiled at Elrohir with whom she was already familiar but glanced at Legolas a little diffidently.

Eldarion hastened to introduce her to the Elven prince. “Legolas, this is my betrothed, the Lady Ilien of Dol Amroth. Lady, this is Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen.” The Elves had to smile at the obvious pride and affection in the prince’s voice. This was definitely a love match.

Ilien dropped into a deep curtsy, eyes lowered in deference. When she rose and spoke again, her tone had considerably altered to a more formal one. 

“Highness, the King and Queen require our presence. My aunt and uncle have arrived from Rohan and wish to see us soonest.”

The Elves’ keen hearing detected the softest sigh from the prince. But Eldarion only said, “Of course, my lady, let us go then.” He could hardly refuse to meet his betrothed’s kinfolk, particularly when they happened to be King Éomer and Queen Lothíriel of neighboring Rohan. He glanced back at his uncle and the Elven prince. “I will see you later at the feast,” he said. 

After they had departed, Legolas grinned at his friend. “I hear that Arwen has been trying to talk you into marrying as well, _gwador_ ,” he teased. “I am told she has been parading a number of fair _ellith_ for your inspection.”

“Aye, but I have not found any to my liking.”

Legolas’s smile faded somewhat. “But what of your pledge? ‘Tis now more than twenty years and you still have not bound yourself to an Elf.”

“Do not worry about me, Legolas.”

“But I do worry.”

Elrohir gazed at him, his dark eyes so penetrating that Legolas, had he been a mere Man, might have flinched. As it is he held the gaze, his own never wavering. It was Elrohir’s next utterance that caused him to break eye contact.

“And you, my prince? I wager you have finally unshut your heart and found love.”

“I did not,” Legolas protested, startled by the unexpected statement.

“Very well, we shall not call it love if you find that discomfiting,” Elrohir coolly said. “Let us say that your affections were finally engaged.”

Legolas blinked at the suggestion. “And what makes you think they were?” he queried. 

Elrohir snorted. ”I know you well, Legolas. Do not insult me by denying what I have perceived in you.” 

The Elven prince hesitated. For a moment, his dark blue eyes seemed to lose focus as his thoughts dwelt on some distant memory. 

“Mayhap you are right,” he conceded.

“What came of it?”

“It was not meant to be.”

“For someone who once renounced love for fear of its tribulations, you seem to have recovered nicely from this first incursion.”

Legolas shrugged. “It hurt well enough at the time, but I have since learned to cope,” he replied. “I doubt I will feel the like again.” 

Elrohir considered the answer then nodded. Legolas wondered at his friend’s sudden curiosity about the matter but Elrohir changed the subject before he could comment on this.

“Come, Elladan will be happy to see you as well.” Without giving the other a chance to respond he turned and led the way to his brother’s chamber.

“Is Nimeithel with him?” Legolas thought to inquire.

“Nay, your law-sister is near her time and Brethildor requested that Nimeithel stay with her until she gives birth.”

Legolas grinned. “How is Elladan taking his enforced celibacy then?”

“Not very well at all,” Elrohir replied, grinning back. “Estel has threatened to chain him to his bed if he disturbs his and Arwen’s sleep one more time!”

The two shared a laugh over the older twin’s problem as they made their way to his chamber.

oOoOoOo

The betrothal feast was everything a royal event should be. There was an abundance of food and drink, a dizzying number of important guests and the heralding of a political alliance that would strengthen Gondor even further. Add to that a Crown Prince who was obviously besotted with his fair bride-to-be and the awe inspired by the three noble _Edhil_ and it was truly a memorable night. The only thing that did not quite seem apt for the affair was the demeanor of one member of the royal family.

The younger of the foster-brothers of Gondor’s king, who also happened to be one of his chief advisors, spent more time than was deemed proper with the Elven prince, Legolas. As the evening progressed, it became emphatically clear that he preferred his friend’s company to any other’s including that of the King himself, his sister, the Queen, his nephew, the heir of Gondor, and even his own twin brother. Legolas had to remind him time and again of his obligations.

At any other time the prince would have welcomed and enjoyed his friend’s attention. But he was mindful of the demands of the occasion and did not think it wise that Elrohir should ignore them so flagrantly. He was not only Aragorn’s kinsman and trusted counsellor, he was also a favorite of the Crown Prince and had great influence over the boy. 

There were also many who sought an alliance with the King through an opportune marriage with members of the royal family. As his son was now betrothed, the next logical target was his unmarried Elf-brother since his daughters, the Princesses Eleniel and Romenna, were little more than youngsters and Elessar was of no mind to affiance any of his children without their consent. Therefore, it was imperative that Elrohir mingled with the guests even if he had no intention of wedding any of the fair maids imposed on his attention. The point was to establish advantageous political ties along the way. 

Legolas became conscious of Arwen’s constant glances in their direction. He knew that she looked to him to persuade Elrohir into doing his duty.

That did not puzzle him. He and Elrohir had always been very close. They had practically grown up together along with Elladan. Many were the tales that came out of Greenwood and Rivendell about the three Elves’ adventures and misadventures. They had driven their respective fathers to distraction more times than either Elven sire cared to remember. 

The friendship had never waned, not even when beset by crisis of various magnitudes. If anything it seemed to have gotten even stronger with each challenge to its foundation. Legolas had not expected matters to ever change. 

But matters did change when Legolas removed to Ithilien and founded the elven colony of Eryn Gael. As Elrohir had predicted, circumstances had proven more of a deterrent to reunions than distance. They had last seen each other six years ago. Much of that time, Legolas had spent fighting once more. 

It had been a period of conflict in the province. 

Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, had trained all his forces on the eastern borders of his land, the region closest to once-feared Mordor. Legolas had lent his strength to Faramir’s armies and spent the better part of the last several years fighting against orcs, bandits and Easterlings still intent on extending their own borders into Gondor. 

Elrohir had wanted to join him but troubles with Gondor’s neighbors had necessitated his and Elladan’s presence in Harondor in skirmishes against encroaching Haradrim. And of course, there were their sojourns in Rivendell where they still dwelt after their father, Elrond, passed to the West with the other Keepers of the Rings. 

'Mayhap his closeness to me now is his way of making up for those lost years,' Legolas mused. Nevertheless, he could not let his friend upset the delicate balance of politics in Gondor. Elessar was beloved by the people but this was no guarantee that intrigue and infighting would not rear their ugly heads. As his foster-brother, Elrohir had to help maintain that balance to ensure that his nephew’s future succession would not be fraught with discontent and public disapproval.

Legolas was all too aware of the opinions of a good number of the kingdom’s nobles. He knew that many whispered about his unusual closeness to the royal family despite his lack of kinship to them. He was not blind to the envy of those who sought greater influence upon Gondor’s rulers and the suspicions of others who thought there was something sinister about an Elf being in such a position. 

In Gondor, the Firstborn were no longer feared as they once had been, but there were still many superstitions regarding their strange customs and powers. Because of their mortal heritage, Arwen and her brothers were not regarded with as much suspicion. Legolas, a pureblooded Elf, did not have that luxury. 

This was the other reason Legolas had absented himself from court for such a long period of time. He had not wanted to be the reason for such talk. By staying away, he had blunted much of the silent accusations that he was exerting undue influence on the King and the King’s brother to whom Elessar turned for much counsel. Unfortunately, Elrohir’s behavior tonight could very well undo much of the good his prolonged absence had secured.

“You really should speak with Lord Dervorin,” he urged Elrohir. “He has been waiting to talk to you all evening.”

Elrohir sighed. “I am weary of speaking to every lord and lady and saying the same things over and over again. You cannot imagine how tedious it can get.”

Legolas smiled understandingly. “I know of what you speak. But ‘tis your duty and you must attend to it. Come now, ‘tis not as if you do not do this in Imladris!”

“Very well, but you must stay right here until I return.”

Only upon securing Legolas’s word did he finally make his way to the aforementioned noble. Legolas watched as the Elf-lord skillfully engaged the Lord of Ringlo Vale in conversation and exchanged witty repartee with any who sought his attention. He was so charming that many who had earlier resented his aloofness were now completely enthralled. 'He is a most potent and adept politician when he puts his mind to it,' thought Legolas. A true son of Elrond. 

He cast a glance at the King and Queen. Arwen caught his eye. She gave him a look that conveyed relief and gratitude. Legolas grinned back in reply. 

He sympathized with Aragorn and Arwen. Elrohir had always been the more intractable twin. Even Elladan, for all his high spirits and love of mischief, had been reasonably tamed by the passing of the years and, later, by the calming influence of love. Not so Elrohir. 

The younger twin was no meek and biddable Elf who did as he was told without question. Unless it was on the field of battle, one could not just tell him what to do; one had to justify one’s order first. 

He did not believe in holding one’s tongue just to spare someone’s feelings if that someone was a fool or a blackguard to begin with. More often than not, he would state his opinion even if what he had to say was not complimentary at best and too blunt to stomach at worst. How he still managed to be an excellent diplomat was a mystery that had yet to be fathomed. 

He was also deeply passionate about things he cared for. Once he set his mind to something, it was difficult to dissuade him or rein him in. 

Legolas smiled as he observed Elrohir smoothly but hastily rid himself of two overbearing lords, one fawning counsellor and a slew of flirtatious maidens. With an expression that would send even the most pugnacious orc into hiding, the twin hurried back to his friend’s side. Legolas laughed softly as the other grimly pulled him behind one of the great pillars that lined the sides of Merethrond, the Hall of Feasts, in a most obvious bid to avoid further attention.

“That was not too terrible now, was it?” he said. 

“You are jesting! ‘Twas worse than terrible!” Elrohir exclaimed. “Never have I had to listen to so many fatuous, boring, absolutely pointless inanities! I grieve for my poor nephew that he will some day have to bear thrice what I must endure.”

Legolas chuckled. “The evening is still young, Elrohir,” he pointed out. “Your duties are far from over.”

The darkling Elf groaned. “Must you remind me?” He sighed. “The only saving grace in all this is your presence, Calenlass. I am truly glad you are back.”

Legolas smiled. Elrohir had been the first and only one to use the pet name on him “I, too, am glad to be here. I have missed you, _meldiren_.”—my friend.

Elrohir glanced at him. “I missed you, too,” he said, his voice suddenly soft and wistful. “I wish you did not stay away so long.”

“You know why I had to.”

“Aye. ‘Tis amazing how vicious people can be, thinking such thoughts about you. If they knew how much good you have done Gondor they would not be so quick to make judgments about you.”

“Nay, they would be quicker.”

The darkling Elf snorted. “They are fools to believe any evil of you,” he said. “If they only knew how unhappy they make _me_ when their malice keeps you from here.” He sighed pensively. “With my oath of service to Gondor, I can only rarely remain in Imladris with Elladan for more than half of each year and his visits to Gondor cannot be prolonged now that he is wed to your sister. When he leaves, there is only you for with Estel king he cannot be the brother of our earlier days. Yet he cannot spare me overlong and I must remain ever at his side in these turbulent times. These past six years have been lonely ones, _ernilen_.”—my prince.

Legolas frowned. “I did not realize you felt my absence so keenly,” he said. “Had I known I would have come here now and then.”

“Even with all the talk?”

“Aye, despite everything, I would have come. You are dear to me and I would not have you unhappy.”

Elrohir smiled. “I only wish—” He stopped. "'Tis good of you to feel that way,” he said. 

Legolas had the odd feeling that was not what he been about to say. He noticed Aragorn signaling to him from afar that Elrohir was needed once more. 

“Aragorn summons you,” he told the other Elf. “I believe one of his nobles wishes to present his daughters to you.” 

Elrohir scowled. “Once more into the breach,” he muttered. “You will wait here?”

Legolas smiled. “I will wait.”

He watched the twin walk to the King and Queen. He grinned as Elrohir tried to wipe away his annoyance and affect a cheerful mien. From the smiles on everybody’s faces, he was apparently successful and if one did not know him well one would think him merry and content. But the dark look he managed to cast in Legolas’s direction indicated he was anything but. 

It was way past the midnight hour when the festivities finally ended. The three Elves made their way back to their chambers.

“Estel says you are leaving tomorrow,” Elladan said soberly. “Is this true?”

Legolas nodded. “I am needed in Ithilien.”

“Yet you have just arrived and were away for so long,” Elrohir said. “We had hoped you would spend the week with us before we returned to Imladris.”

Legolas sighed. “If I could stay longer, I would. You know that, Elrohir.”

Elrohir frowned. “Then I shall have to go to you instead,” he stated. “When I return to Gondor I will visit you soonest.”

“That will please me,” Legolas smiled. He did not see the guarded glance Elladan cast at his twin. 

They walked down the covered passageway that led to the royal pavilion. It forked at one point with the royal apartments on one side and the quarters of guests of high stature on the other. Just as Legolas was about to head for his own chamber, the younger twin gripped his arm suddenly. The prince glanced at him inquiringly.

“Legolas, I would speak with you tomorrow before you leave,” he said

Legolas looked at him curiously. But he merely nodded before walking away. He did not sense the other’s eyes on him or hear the deep breath he exhaled. 

Elladan shook his head and placed an arm around his brother’s shoulders as they walked on to their respective rooms.

“Why wait, _gwanneth_?”—younger twin—he queried. “Why not tonight?”

Elrohir smiled faintly. “Let him have a good night’s sleep,” he said.

Elladan snorted in some amusement. “But he is returning to Ithilien tomorrow. There is no telling when you will meet again. It might be months or even a year or more.”

Elrohir glanced at his twin. “He will likely find himself desiring the respite after our talk. And I am of a mind to let him have the time for it.” His eyes gleamed darkly. “He will need it.” 

*****************************  
Glossary:  
Nórui - Sindarin for June  
Edhil – Elves  
gwador - sworn brother  
ellith – Elf-maids

_To be continued…_


	3. II. Parting Words

The following morning dawned bright and golden. But few among the betrothal feast guests awakened early enough to greet daybreak after the previous night’s late-ending festivities. Legolas, however, rose as always with the sun and was soon dressed for the short trip back to Ithilien. 

After a light breakfast, he went to the royal apartments and made his farewells to a still barely awake King and Queen, hastened to Elladan’s chamber and bade him goodbye then went in search of Elrohir when his room turned up empty. When the younger twin was not to be found, he thought to visit his steed in the stables on the sixth level of the City before resuming his search for the Elf-lord. But Elrohir waylaid him as he reached the gate of the Citadel. 

“I was just looking for you,” Legolas said in relief. “Where were you?”

“Walking, thinking,” Elrohir replied. “Can we talk in private?” 

Legolas looked at him curiously, wondering at his veiled expression. When he nodded his acquiescence, Elrohir led the way down the winding main road to the lowermost level of the City and out onto the Pelennor. They hiked to the southern feet of Mount Mindolluin, the high mountain just west of Minas Tirith against which outthrust knee the Guarded City nestled. The Hallows lay on its eastern flank. 

Elrohir guided his friend up a steep path to a high field on the side of the mountain. From there they could survey the City and all the lands about it for leagues on end. Legolas breathed in the cool, clear air.

"'Tis here that Estel found the sapling of the white tree,” Elrohir told him quietly.

Legolas looked at him in surprise. So, he thought, ‘twas here that the sign was given that Aragorn’s love would be granted. He sighed and his gaze focused on the vista before him. Elrohir watched him a while, studying his fine features, following the contours of his sculpted face.

“Legolas, I need to know,” Elrohir said. “You and Estel—” He halted when the prince turned his eyes upon him. “You admitted to love,” he continued. “It was Estel, was it not?”

Legolas was startled. “Why do you think that?”

“I have eyes, _ernil nîn_.”—my prince. “Ever since the Quest you have changed in the way you regard him. ‘Twas why you chose to live in Ithilien; why you swore not to depart these shores until he passes from this world. Am I right?” 

Legolas looked uneasily at him, disconcerted to have been read so clearly. He turned his gaze away. 

“Aye.”

The answer was so soft Elrohir nearly did not hear it. “You have changed your course considerably for you to have felt something for him,” he remarked.

“And why should that surprise you?” Legolas questioned. “‘Twas you who led me down this path after all.”

“And now Estel reaps what I have sown. ‘Tis ironic, is it not, considering he was so attached to me as a child.” Again that odd tinge of bitterness. “Were you intimate with each other?” he asked roughly. 

His friend’s eyes widened at the impertinence of the question. “Of course not!” Legolas rejoined, staring at the other. 

“Why not?”

“He is no Elf!” 

“Estel was raised in Imladris,” Elrohir pointed out. “And he is of my uncle’s line. Mayhap our duality slumbers in him. I doubt he would have looked askance at such a request.”

“And have him betray Arwen? I think not,” Legolas said frowningly, his puzzlement growing stronger. “I would not hurt someone I hold as dear as my own sister. Besides...” The archer let out a pensive breath. “Aragorn cared not for me in that manner. ‘Twas always Arwen he yearned for, why he strove so hard during the Quest. He loves our Evenstar, make no mistake about that.”

“I have no doubts about that,” Elrohir said. “I could tell that his heart was ever my sister’s else Elladan and I would have had more than mere words with him. But that he remained constant does not change the fact that you loved him beyond the bounds of mere friendship.” 

His words recalled to Legolas the time when his own relationship with this son of Elrond had nearly unraveled. His cheeks colored somewhat. Elrohir saw this but did not halt in his queries. 

“What made you care for him?”

Bemused and uncomfortable, Legolas was slow to respond. But under the Elf-knight’s relentless gaze, he finally gave in and considered the question. 

“I do not really know,” he admitted. “We became very close after Boromir died and Merry and Pippin were taken. We spent nearly every waking minute in each other’s company, striving to catch up with the orcs, arriving in Rohan to an uncertain welcome. And at the Hornburg, we fought at each other’s side, guarded each other’s backs, as we had never done before. I would have died for him, as he would have for me. I simply felt something more for him than friendship allowed even if I knew he did not return it.”

Elrohir’s eyes narrowed. “And now?”

Legolas sighed. “It is past. I do not dwell on it.”

“Yet I see your face at times and know you remember.”

“One does not simply forget. Aragorn will always have a place in my heart.” For a moment silence fell between the two. “Elrohir, why are you asking all these questions?” Legolas finally said.

The Elf-warrior let his breath out. “Because I need to know if you would open your heart to another,” he said. At the other’s astonished reaction, he drew a deep breath and added: “To _me._ ”

It was seldom that he witnessed Legolas so at a loss for words. The sapphire eyes widened in complete shock and the fine lips parted wordlessly. Some minutes actually passed before the archer found his tongue once more and even then it took several false starts before he finally found the wherewithal to utter something coherent. Had the situation not been so emotionally dire, Elrohir might have found it amusing. 

“Sweet Eru,” Legolas whispered at last. “What are you saying?”

“I love you, Calenlass _nîn_ ”—my Greenleaf—the twin said bluntly. When Legolas looked at him in stunned disbelief and the obvious beginnings of denial, he added sharply, “Oh, I know what you think. I cannot compare with Estel. He was the Hope of the Dúnedain, the restorer of the Reunited Kingdom and the Elfstone of Gondor. Why should you even consider looking at me as you did him?”

He stopped abruptly when Legolas placed his fingers against his lips. The golden Elf’s eyes were flashing angrily. 

“Stop!” he commanded. “I will not have you demean yourself or Aragorn.”

Elrohir snorted but did not continue his acerbic words. “I did not mean to do so. I only stated the truth,” he said more quietly. “For so long had I believed that nothing would come of what I feel for you. Yet I could not stay away from you. Why think you did I make the choice to be of the _Edhil_? Why I have dwelt in Gondor as much as in Imladris? ‘Tis not only my oaths that keep me here, Legolas.”

This last was said with so much sorrow and the lingering shadow of despair that Legolas’s anger swiftly faded. 

“I do not know what to say,” he said, his voice catching. “I-I am sorry.” 

“Do not apologize,” the twin said. “You could not have stopped me from feeling as I do about you.” 

Legolas became aware of the no long hidden desire in Elrohir’s eyes. He felt a shiver pass through his body. 

It was the same desire he had seen in Elrohir’s eyes so long ago; the desire that had nearly driven them apart had he not offered himself to assuage it. No one he had ever cared for had looked upon him with that same intensity of need. If there were others who had gazed upon him with as much hunger he felt no affinity for them and therefore did not care. But for Elrohir he had always cared and therefore had known the consequences of his wanting. Now it was happening again. 

Legolas gazed anew at his closest friend. It did not seem possible that this should come to pass once more and yet here was the impossible before him. 

The last time they had lain together was almost a century ago. Aragorn had been but a babe and since then they had not been intimate again. Indeed, Elrohir seemingly resumed his promiscuous ways, cutting a carnal swathe through the remaining population of unbound Elf-women in Middle-earth and not a few females of Mortal-kind as well. The archer had thought his friend cured of his passion for him. 

“I thought that such feelings no longer had hold of you,” he said almost desperately. 

“You wanted to believe that. I only pretended for your sake,” Elrohir quietly admitted. “I have loved you for centuries uncounted, Calenlass. Think you I could set aside my love so easily?” 

He waited for Legolas to recover from this revelation. “In truth, I was greatly tempted to be of Man-kind if only to end the torment of loving you and not having you,” he confessed. “The urge grew particularly stronger before you left on the Quest.”

Shock registered anew on the archer’s face. He almost staggered under the weight of this alarming discovery.

“We-we nearly lost you?” he gasped in near horror.

Elrohir smiled sadly. “Nearly. ‘Twas your plea after Arwen and Estel’s wedding that made me reconsider my decision.”

The archer could scarcely speak for his agitation. “Why did you not tell me before I left Imladris?!” he demanded, momentarily diverted. “To think I left not knowing you might have made such a choice!” 

“I did not wish to disturb your peace when you were embarking on such a perilous journey,” Elrohir said. He paused, a pained expression flickering across his handsome features. “It was the hardest thing I have ever done, letting you go when I feared so greatly for your safety. In truth, harder than making my choice for ‘twas your life that was at stake.” 

Legolas felt his eyes sting with sudden regret at this evidence of the depths of the Elf-knight’s selfless regard for him.

“You should have told me,” he insisted in a trembling voice.

“To what end?” Elrohir said. “You would have fled from me.”

“Nay, I would not,” Legolas protested. “I did not run from you when you first wanted me.”

“Because you believed that ‘twas mere desire that drove me then,” Elrohir countered. “I cannot deceive myself that had you thought it more than desire, had you seen that I had already begun to love you, that you would have stayed by me then.”

Legolas shook his head, unable to accept the warrior’s logic. “Nay, I would not have forsaken you even then,” he objected. “I would not have held our friendship so lightly.”

Elrohir’s expression told him that, in this matter at least, his friend did not believe him. For the Elf-knight to so doubt him in turn made him unsure of his own assertions. Ever had Elrohir always accepted his word without question.

He drew in a shaky breath. “Whatever you may believe my response would have been, I wish you had trusted me enough to tell me.”

Elrohir simply repeated his earlier statement. “You would have fled from me. You were not ready to open your heart to love. Not until Estel.”

Legolas looked at him with confused eyes. “How did you—?”

“I told you, I know you well.” 

The Wood-elf floundered. “Ai, it must have pained you – I mean – Oh Elbereth, I am truly sorry! I never meant to hurt you, Elrohir.”

“And I told you, no apologies,” the warrior reiterated. “I know you would never have hurt me intentionally. Besides, after the initial pain, I realized that there was hope after all.”

“Hope?” Legolas’s eyes were wider than they’d ever been.

“Hope that if you had unshut your heart enough to care for him, then mayhap you would accept another love in his stead,” Elrohir said. 

The archer’s sharp indrawn breath accompanied his suddenly flushed countenance.

“Why – why did you not c-come to me after—?” he virtually stuttered, befuddlement and the effects of shock overtaking his usual grace. 

“Because your feelings were too fresh, your disappointment too recent,” Elrohir gently explained. “But when I saw you yesterday I knew it was time I told you the truth. I wanted you so much it was pure agony trying to conceal it from you.” 

Legolas felt a quiver pass through his limbs when the twin came closer. 

“Elrohir—”

The warrior said very softly. “I do not demand that you love me. I would not care for something forced. But I dare hope to yet gain it. All I ask is that you do not compare me with Estel.”

Legolas felt a twinge of sympathetic pain at the other’s request. “I have never compared you to him,“ he said earnestly. “You are Elrohir to me, no other; the dearest friend of my heart.” Espying the pleasure in the other’s eyes, he cautioned anxiously: “I cannot promise anything.”

“Nor do I expect you to.” 

He swiftly closed the remaining distance between them and reached up his hand to cup the prince’s face. Before Legolas could react, the dark-haired Elf caught his mouth in a tender yet heated kiss. 

Legolas was shocked by the sudden thrill that ran through his limbs. The sensations he had thought long forgotten coursed through his veins with easy familiarity as if they had only lain dormant and now came alive again at Elrohir’s touch. Unthinkingly, he responded and with that response found powerful arms enclosing him. 

Elrohir deepened the kiss, compelling him to part his lips. Legolas could not suppress a needful moan as his mouth was gently pillaged, its reaches thoroughly tasted. He had not expected to feel such pleasure; had not imagined he would enjoy Elrohir’s attentions once more and so readily at that. 

He struggled for lucidity and, finding it, pulled away with a ragged gasp. But he knew it was too late. Elrohir had heard him and felt his response. 

They stared at each other, one with chaotic confusion, the other with swiftly dawning exultation. Legolas saw the light in Elrohir’s argent eyes. He suddenly felt a need to get away and put his turbulent thoughts and feelings in some semblance of order.

“I must go,” he said shakily. “My people await me.” 

He turned to leave but Elrohir caught him by the wrist. He looked back and saw that the twin was gazing at him with barely suppressed elation.

“Safe journey then, _malthernil_ ”—golden prince—Elrohir said. 

Of a sudden, he smiled and his smile reached out to the prince and ensnared him against his will. 

“You will be mine, Legolas. I think you know that.”

Legolas stared at him, his heart pounding as loudly as the drums of the Haradrim in battle. His breath quickened. Once again, he remembered the friend of years past who had known him far more intimately than any friend could or should possibly know. 

He pulled his hand away and made his way down the path. But he could sense the eyes of Elrohir upon him and the sensation made him feel like a cornered stag at a hunt in Greenwood. 

_To be continued…_


	4. III. Shield-Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up the name of Legolas's elven colony in Ihilien. I mention this here because I came across a number of fanfic whose authors used the name in the mistaken assumption that it is canon.

Ithilien, _Cerveth_ F.A. 21  
Nearly a year later, in early July, a great host of Men crossed into Southern Ithilien. A small company detached itself and passed the boundaries of Eryn Gael, the elven colony in the province. Legolas, forewarned by his sentries, went to meet them in the large clearing before his halls. 

The haven was a reminder of Eryn Lasgalen from the architecture of the dwellings to the green and brown raiment of its Elves. Every structure had been made to blend in with its surroundings whether at ground level or in the branches of the ancient trees. A stranger wandering into its midst could be forgiven for thinking himself lost in another world. 

But while their lodgings looked much the same, other matters had changed significantly amongst the Silvan Elves, both in the colony and back in Greenwood. The War had forced them to mingle more often with the Eldar and they had since embraced many of the ancient traditions of their kindred including the inherent duality of their passions.

Amongst the Elves of Eryn Gael, this was further hastened by the influx of _Edhil_ formerly of Lothlórien. With the departures of their lord and lady the Golden Wood had passed into legend. Many of its people had either journeyed West with Galadriel or joined Celeborn in his new realm of East Lórien on the southern bounds of Eryn Lasgalen.

But still others had chosen to cleave to the Wood-elves of Eryn Gael, attracted by the challenges a new life in the south presented. It helped that in Legolas they found a lord much to their liking. Like Celeborn, he understood their martial inclinations yet possessed unerring mastery over them. And they also found pride and solace in the presence of their former rulers’ grandchildren, the younger twin, Elrohir, who oft made Gondor his home as much as Rivendell, and Queen Arwen herself. 

Needless to say, the Lórien Elves’ influence upon their new community was exceedingly efficient. It did not take long for the fearsome Galadhrim to rekindle in the Greenwood Elves the long-suppressed, dormant natures of their forebears when they first awoke by the ancient shores of Cuivienen. 

But such a subtle though profound change was evident only to those of Elfkind. Man still had little or no inkling of the innermost workings of the elvish mind or the extent of elven passions save for a knowledgeable few such as the still extant Dúnedain of whom the Steward of Gondor and the ruling family of Dol Amroth were numbered.

Legolas quietly awaited the approach of the company of riders and foot soldiers. He stood alone but he was not alone for warriors and archers watched from behind trees and up in the branches, lethal and unseen. Even in lovely Ithilien, the habits of a lifetime of caution died hard.

His eyes narrowed as he recognized the banners of the King of Gondor and the Prince of Ithilien. Aragorn and Faramir. He wondered what troubles had brought both men to him.

The company came to a stop before him. He smiled as the lead rider dismounted and neared him. 

“Aragorn,” he said simply for the King had insisted that he never address him in a more formal fashion. Aragorn clapped his hand on the Elf’s shoulder; the gesture was returned. After their softly uttered greetings, he turned to welcome Faramir as well. 

As he spoke he turned his gaze upon the company and gave it a quick sweep. A pair of silvered eyes met his. He gazed at the rider questioningly. Aragorn noticed his expression and turned to see what he was looking at.

“Elrohir!” the king said. “I would have you join us, _gwanur nîn_.”—my brother.

The Elvenlord dismounted gracefully and joined the three. When he reached them he simply nodded in greeting to Legolas. Aragorn looked at him with mild surprise. 

“You astonish me, Elrohir,” he remarked. “Ever have you been known to greet Legolas with much warmth and eagerness. Why are you so sedate now?”

Elrohir coolly replied: “It would not be seemly in front of our men.” 

Legolas stared at him curiously. There was nothing in the warrior’s demeanor to indicate that he had practically upended Legolas’s life and long-held beliefs but a year ago. Was it possible that Elrohir’s sudden revelation then had been but a result of their long earlier separation? The Elf-knight had confessed to deep loneliness during that period. 'Mayhap he is now regretting his outburst and is uncomfortable with me,' Legolas thought. It would certainly explain his uncharacteristic reserve with the Elf-prince. 

After a year of worrying and wondering and waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop, Legolas felt a wave of relief sweep through his body. Feeling much lighter, he gave his full attention to the matter at hand.

Faramir explained why they had come to the Elves. Through spies in Harad, they had learned that a massive force of Southrons was moving against Gondor. An enemy fleet of Haradrim and Corsairs had left Umbar and was sailing to the Bay of Belfalas. Its objective was to pass down the Anduin and come to Pelargir whence they would then ravage the surrounding countryside. Another force was coming by land. They had already broken the disputed borders of South Gondor and were moving north toward Ithilien. The Southrons were not bent on conquest; rather they were intent on extending their borders further into the north.

“They have grown bold anew,” Legolas commented. 

“They know we have been expending much of our strength in repulsing the remnants of Mordor’s orcs and minions,” Aragorn said.

Faramir said grimly, “Not so much that we cannot fight off new foes. They will learn yet of their folly.” 

“What of the Rohirrim?” Legolas inquired. “Can they help?”

“Nay, the Dunlendings have been raiding their borders again. Éomer cannot afford to split his forces. We are alone in this.” 

“Not so alone. The Lord of Aglarond will be joining us with a contingent of Dwarves,” Aragorn said.

Legolas’s eyes lit up. “Gimli could never say ‘no’ to you, Aragorn.” 

“We plan to meet the enemy fleet at Pelargir,“ Aragorn continued. “Our forces are already amassing there. Elladan is with them right now as is my son. But that will leave Ithilien vulnerable. We were hoping you would help us in repelling the second force.”

“Since when have I refused Gondor aid?” Legolas smiled humorlessly. “My warriors can march by dawn. Who will lead your army here in Ithilien?”

“Elrohir is their captain,” Aragorn said.

Legolas glanced at Elrohir. “So, we fight together once more, _gwador_ ,” he remarked. “It has been a long time.”

Elrohir said, “Aye, a long time indeed.”

Assured of Legolas’s help, Aragorn and Faramir rode away with only a few men. The rest of the company remained. Legolas saw to their quartering for the night before turning his attention back to Elrohir. 

“Will you stay with your men or will I provide a room for you in my home?” he asked the Elvenlord.

Elrohir shook his head. “I will stay with them. After this conflict is over then mayhap I will accept the luxury of staying within your halls.”

Legolas nodded. A good captain would not hie off to comfortable lodgings while his men made do with starker accommodations. Not when a battle was in the offing. He left to muster his own warriors.

Daybreak found them on the move. They had met up with the main body of Gondor’s forces and the now formidable army marched to meet the invaders. Legolas’s scouts had already discovered the whereabouts of the Southrons. They were attacking and pillaging small settlements as they moved northwards toward Ithilien. 

“Treacherous swine,” Elrohir snarled as his and Legolas’s combined forces moved swiftly to intercept the enemy. “You would think that after Estel made peace with them in their last defeat, they would honor their own promises.”

“Our recent skirmishes with other foes mark us as weakened in their eyes,” Legolas remarked. “They think it an opportune moment to regain lost territory.” 

“They will rue this venture before long,” the twin stated. “We must head them off before they get any further, Legolas.”

“We will,” Legolas replied. “There are many places where we can set up an ambush for them.”

“You mean to take them by stealth.” 

“Stealth will keep the blood of our people from being spilled over much.” He noticed the frown on Elrohir’s face and was amused. “What would you do? Give them the chance to prepare for our attack?”

Elrohir had to grin. “Nay, I know ‘tis the best way to deal with these scoundrels. But I will admit that I am more than eager to teach them some manners. Their concept of neighborly conduct leaves much to be desired.”

Legolas chuckled at the twin’s choice of words. “Patience, _roch greg_. You will have your chance.”

The prince suddenly urged his steed forward and Elrohir became aware that there were Elves among the trees. They came out fully as their lord approached and soon were making reports. Elrohir neared them and realized they were using the Silvan speech of the Wood-elves of which he knew very little.

He took the opportunity to observe his men’s reactions to their Elven allies. In particular, their reactions to the Elf-prince who led said allies.

Curiosity and wonder were rife. That was to be expected. Faramir’s people had oft fought side by side with the Ithilien Elves ever since the founding of the colony. But the men of Gondor had seldom come into contact with them and deemed them strange and not to be trifled with. Even their prince who had served their cause so valiantly more than twenty years ago was an object of speculation and wariness. Most had only seen Legolas from afar—some during the Great War, others when they chanced to glimpse him during his infrequent visits to Minas Tirith.

In battle gear, the Elf-prince was certainly an intriguing sight. The combination and contrasts of seeming fragility and tensile strength, of ethereal fairness against earthy leather and mail were fascinating at the very least. Elrohir knew all too well of Legolas’s skill with bow or knife or sword but it had been long since he had witnessed his friend in action. He thought about it with a volatile mixture of anticipation and worry.

Legolas returned to his side. As they moved onwards once more, the prince recounted his scouts’ reports to the Elvenlord. Accordingly they made their plans.

oOoOoOo

The Haradrim marched toward the borders of Ithilien with much confidence and hardly any caution. They had met minimal resistance along the way, preying as they did on scattered communities with little or no fighting men among the inhabitants. They were loaded with much booty and looked to garnering more in the rich province.

Recklessly they pressed on. They were headed towards the Crossing of Poros, the one section of the river that their forces could safely traverse. Once they crossed the ford, they would be in Ithilien itself.

The ford was by no means totally benign. Though the main passageway was shallow and firm of bottom, there were many treacherous spots. Places where the ground gave no support and sucked down whoever or whatever was unfortunate enough to tread upon them. Areas where the water suddenly rose higher and moved faster than expected to drown the unsuspecting. If one kept to the main crossing one was safe enough. Wander further away and there was no security of life or limb.

They approached the ford two days later soon after sunrise. The region was silent and empty in the early morning twilight. Encouraged by the lack of any visible signs of resistance, the Southrons began to cross. Only a lone birdcall disturbed the quiet. The van of the invaders soon made it to the other side. The enemy had broken Ithilien’s borders. 

The main body of the army proceeded to make its way across the ford. They were almost halfway through when another birdcall sounded. 

As if from nowhere, a hail of arrows greeted the enemy forces. Chaos ensued. More arrows found their marks as the enemy floundered in the shallow waters. Horses whinnied in terror, bolted from the main path and plunged into soft, oozy muck to be sucked down dragging along supply carts or taking their riders with them. Foot soldiers, in an effort to evade the arrows, blundered into the deeper parts of the ford only to drown, weighed down by their armor and weapons. Screams of rage and fear filled the air as bodies began to pile up in the now tainted waters.

On the northern banks of the ford, the forces of Gondor and Ithilien sprang from their places of concealment. The harried van of the Southrons was forced to turn its attention to engaging the enemy. And still the deadly arrows rained down upon the hapless Men in the midst of the ford. 

Legolas fell upon the enemy with all the grace and ferocity of his Elven forebears. Wielding bow or blade with equal facility, he was fearsome in battle. There was no sign of the gentle Elf in the warrior who hacked and stabbed and sliced away at any that dared to confront him. Yet even in the midst of the fighting, he found himself seeking the figure of another warrior. He soon located him.

It was not hard to recognize him. Feral and ruthless was Elrohir as he cut a wide swath through his foes. His dark eyes glinted with cold rage and merciless determination. His arm rose and fell tirelessly as he drove the enemy before him. Legolas realized that the twin was fighting his way to him.

Before long, they were side-by-side cutting down the enemy or driving them back to the ford. As if they had never parted as brothers-in-arms for so many years, they fought together with uncanny synchrony, knowing each other’s moves and defending each other’s backs. Legolas managed a fleeting glance at Elrohir and was met with the other’s gaze. He saw the light of battle in the other’s eyes and blood-thirst besides. But he also glimpsed fulfillment and he suddenly remembered how his friend had fiercely defended him throughout the War. He was doing so once more.

The ambush turned into a virtual slaughter. The Southrons on the northern bank were reduced to corpses. The ford was swollen with the bodies of Men and horses and littered with their carts and supplies. Only a small fraction of the army that had not completely made the crossing managed to break away and flee south. Legolas and Elrohir knew they would return to their realm to recoup and one day come back to plague them anew. But when some of Gondor’s warriors would have pursued them, Elrohir stopped them.

“Let them go,” he said. “We must get to Pelargir and add our strength to the King’s forces.”

They saw to the disposal of the dead and debris first. Their own people they buried beneath the eaves of the tall trees of Ithilien. The enemy they burned in great pyres. The spoils they salvaged to be returned or redistributed as needed. 

As they prepared to march once more, Elrohir approached Legolas. They had not been able to speak with each other since before the battle began. Legolas was binding his left hand.

“You are hurt,” Elrohir said with concern.

Legolas said, “Just a small cut. ‘Tis no matter.” He looked at Elrohir. “And you?” Elrohir shook his head. Legolas smiled suddenly. “You fought well.”

The Elf-warrior gazed at him. “As did you,” he said. “I am glad we had this chance to fight together once more.”

“I share the sentiment, _gwador_ ,” the Elven prince replied. “I felt no fear in this battle. Indeed, I always feel safe when you are at my side.”

He turned to mount his steed but Elrohir stayed him. “Do you mean that?” he asked seriously. “About feeling safe because of me.”

Legolas looked at his friend. “Yea, I mean it,” he replied. “I have always felt it.” 

It was true, Legolas thought. Elrohir’s devotion to him throughout any fighting always gave him a sense of security. It was a feeling that the twin would even consider leaving his forces to their own devices than allow any harm to come to his friend. 

Elrohir was staring at him with a gleam in his twilight eyes. “I would sooner perish than let you take hurt in any way,” he said.

“Do not say that,” Legolas admonished him “I am not worthy of such a sacrifice.”

“So say you,” the twin said. “But I think otherwise.” 

Using the warhorse as cover, he leaned forward with a suddenness that took Legolas unawares and brushed his lips against the prince’s. He drew back and briefly regarded the startled Elf. And then he strode off. Legolas stared at his retreating back in shock. 

He has not given up the chase, he thought, his heart suddenly racing.

oOoOoOo

They reached Pelargir in time to throw their support behind the massed forces of Gondor.

Forewarned, the citizens of the port city had fled to safety taking with them their valuables and many belongings. When the Southrons arrived they found naught but the swords and lances of their enemy to welcome them. But the Haradrim were not deterred. Though they had tasted bitter defeat in the Great War they were still a people to reckon with, cruel and proud. Not for them to retreat in ignominy before the might of Gondor. 

The battle that ensued was fierce and bloody. Many were the dead and wounded on both sides. For a time both sides were evenly matched. But the arrival of Legolas and Elrohir’s forces tilted the balance in favor of Gondor and dealt the Haradrim a lethal blow.

Aragorn, taking advantage of a lull in the fighting about him, looked around at his men. With some surprise, he realized that while Elladan, Eldarion and Gimli and his Dwarves fought around him, Legolas was nowhere near. It worried him for always had the Elf remained at his side in the many battles during the War of the Ring. Aragorn had to admit that he had got so used to it that he had come to take it for granted that Legolas would find a way to join him. 

He finally saw him after a while, further afield, his bow singing, sword flashing. And at the Elf-prince’s side was another prince who fought with as much savage efficiency. It was Elrohir. Aragorn permitted himself a small smile as he turned his attention once more to the fighting.

oOoOoOo

Legolas moved among the tents of his warriors, checking for those who might bear severe injuries, taking note of any casualties. He counted himself fortunate. The dead among his people were much less than he had feared. The injured were greater in number but that was easily dealt with considering the strength and endurance of the Elven body.

Aragorn had set up camp outside Pelargir and thither had the forces of Gondor retired after the battle. The army from Ithilien had also settled here, the Elves choosing to stay a little apart from the rest. That was not too surprising. The Elves of Ithilien were largely of Silvan stock. They had always been less friendly with Men and were, therefore, more shy of them even after several years of living in the southern kingdom. Only the few Sindar like Legolas felt at ease among the Younger Children of Iluvatar. 

The Elven prince had other things on his mind at present. With the triumph of Gondor over the Southrons, he could turn his thoughts to the trek home. A home that had been preserved by their victory, thank the Powers. He was relieved that the beauty of Ithilien would not be despoiled in this conflict. 

He noticed Aragorn, his son and his foster brothers approaching along with Gimli, his Dwarf friend; he walked out to meet them. He saw that none of them were hurt or harmed in any way and for that he was thankful. He was only realizing now that he had fought the whole battle by Elrohir’s side. He had not even thought to fight his way to Aragorn as had been his wont. All his concern had been for the Elf who remained at his side. He was not certain if he had done right or wrong. When it came to Elrohir, he wasn’t sure of anything any longer.

He greeted Elladan and Eldarion before turning his attention to the Dwarf lord.

"'Tis good to see you again, Elf,” Gimli said gruffly though his eyes twinkled with gladness at seeing his old friend again. “You can still fight well enough, I see.” 

“And ‘tis good to see that you have lost none of your edge in battle, Master Dwarf,” Legolas replied. “Though it seems the numbers you slew fell far short of what you used to be capable of,” he added teasingly.

The Dwarf sputtered in indignation. “I will have you know that ‘twas not my skill that has diminished but the confounded protectiveness of my people that has increased!” he growled. “Had I known that becoming a lord would mean enduring their misguided attempts to coddle me, I would have stayed put in Erebor and remained a simple Dwarf!”

Legolas laughed merrily, pleased that Gimli had lost none of his curmudgeonly demeanor. He turned his attention back to Aragorn and the others. 

“Gondor owes you and your people much, _mellon nîn_ ”—my friend— Aragorn said warmly.

Legolas shook his head. “We are as much a part of Gondor as any of your people, Aragorn,” he pointed out. “You owe us nothing.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Aragorn grinned. He gave a slightly weary sigh. “And I am more than glad that this is over. We return to Minas Tirith tomorrow. I would relieve Arwen of any anxiety as soon as possible.” He looked at the Elven prince inquiringly. “Gimli has agreed to come for a visit. Will you join us?”

Legolas glanced back at the tents that sheltered his people. “Nay,” he replied. “We will march to Ithilien as soon as it is light. My people are anxious to return to their homes. Wood-elves have no liking for stone walls and dwellings.”

Aragorn said regretfully, “Then we must part again, my friend. ‘Tis a pity. Arwen would have been pleased to have you visit with us. She is with child again by the way.”

“That is wonderful news!” Legolas smiled. “Give her my love and regards. Mayhap I will find the time later this year.”

“ _I_ have the time to visit Ithilien,” Elrohir suddenly said. King, Dwarf and both princes looked at him in surprise. There was something unmistakably provocative about the way he spoke. Only Elladan was not taken aback and he regarded his brother with amusement mingled with compassion. Elrohir looked pointedly at Legolas. “Did you not say during your last sojourn in Minas Tirith that it would please you if I did?”

Legolas hesitated. “I said that, aye,” he answered guardedly. “But I did not think it would be so soon after this crisis.”

“I am not welcome?” 

Aragorn looked sharply at his foster brother. He wondered if he had heard a challenge in the Elf’s voice. Surely not, he thought. Why would he take that tone with Legolas? But a glance at Gimli’s startled expression told him he had not misheard.

Legolas smiled at Elrohir but Aragorn was quick to observe that the smile did not quite reach his eyes. “You are always welcome, Elrohir,” the prince said with an edge to his voice. 

“Then I take it that I may join you tomorrow?” Again the challenging, almost taunting tone.

“You may if you wish.” 

Aragorn and Gimli looked from Elven prince to younger twin in perplexity. There was some byplay going on here but they had no idea what it was. Aragorn could feel the tension growing though and he moved quickly to dispel it. He did not want his mellow mood to be marred by something as vague as a feeling that something was not quite right between the two. 

“I give you leave to go then,” he told his foster brother. “Will Elladan join you?”

“Nay,” the older twin said. “I wish to spend some time with Arwen before I return to Imladris. This is Elrohir’s _desire_ , not mine.”

Aragorn did not miss the emphatic manner in which Elladan had uttered the word ‘desire’ nor was he oblivious of the three-way glance the Elves shared among themselves. But before he could ask what in the name of Arda was going on, his son interrupted. 

Eldarion exclaimed, “Can I go with Uncle Elrohir, _Ada_? You promised me that I could visit Ithilien when he went.” 

Aragorn’s raised his eyebrows. “Your mother will not be pleased that you should take off so precipitately. Will you not see her first?” the King pointed out.

“If I go home to Minas Tirith first, she will never let me set out at all,” the youth complained. “Please, let me go with Uncle Elrohir. I swear I shall come home after a week even if he stays on with Legolas.”

Elrohir grinned at his nephew’s eagerness. “Let him come with us, Estel. I promise, I will take good care of him. And I will hold him to his word and send him home in a week’s time.”

Aragorn sighed. “Very well then, you may go, _iôn nîn_. But you must take some men with you. I will not have you travelling alone on your way home. And if you are to go with them tomorrow morning I advise you to get some rest. _Edhil_ can march all day on little or no sleep. All they need are their dreams.” He grinned at the Elves and was rewarded with smiles. “I will not have it said that the heir of Gondor held up a whole company of Elves because he needed to take a nap!”

Gimli snickered as Eldarion turned a nice shade of red. But Legolas could scarcely find the wherewithal to even smile. Not when a pair of twilight eyes regarded him with an intensity that sent tremors up his spine and threatened his equanimity. And promised him more than he was willing to imagine.

******************************  
Glossary:  
Cerveth - Sindarin for July  
Edhil – Elves  
gwanur – ‘brother’ or ‘sister’ but a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman  
gwador - sworn brother  
roch vreg – wild stallion  
Ada – Papa  
iôn nîn – my son

_To be continued…_


	5. IV. Overture

Eryn Gael, Ithilien  
Elrohir looked up at the stars with delight. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but they seemed so much clearer out here in the wilds than in the enclosed streets of Minas Tirith. Or was it because he was in a place he much desired that the stars seemed so much brighter? 

He was standing in the great clearing before Legolas’s halls. Though dressed quite simply in a silvery shirt, long pale breeches and soft boots, he still cut a striking figure especially with his raven hair pulled back into a single thick plait. 

He glanced back at the brightly lit porch of the prince’s house, wondering when Eldarion would awaken. 

Legolas’s home was a two-story dwelling that partially embraced the wizened trunk of an oak tree. Like all the other homes in the colony, it had been designed for comfort and functionality. There was nary a trace of ostentation or conceit in its simple lines. Yet it possessed a loveliness that was enchanting and abounded in charm and grace. 

The same could be said for virtually every house in the colony. But even more fascinating to mortal eyes was the way the Elves’ dwellings seemed to glimmer in the dark amongst the trees. It was how the Elves themselves were perceived by the few Men who passed through this neck of the woods. Hence the name of the colony, Eryn Gael, or ‘Glimmering Wood’. 

Elrohir looked around him once more in delight. It was a number of months since he’d last resided in a structure of wholly elven make. Minas Tirith’s buildings were beautiful and ancient but they lacked the affinity with nature that the Firstborn sought in all their endeavors. To be at one with trees and flora, one had to leave the city and travel to the nearby forests. And while Anduin was close by, the looming ruins of Osgiliath and the somewhat depressing atmosphere the fallen city imparted was enough to discourage lengthy visits to the river.

Aragorn had begun the reclamation of the former capital but it would take many years before it was even partly habitable again. And so it continued to lie near empty in the distance, a constant reminder of how close the Men of the West had come to oblivion. 

Elrohir set aside such melancholic thoughts and returned his attention to the beauty and serenity around him. Truly, it was wonderful to be amongst his kindred once again. 

He heard the faint patter of footsteps behind him. Turning around, he smiled fondly at his yawning nephew as the young man emerged from Legolas’s house.

“It seems I slept the day away, Uncle,” the boy remarked drowsily.

“You needed the rest,” the Elf-warrior replied. He considered his nephew’s state ruefully. 

Aragorn was right, of course. The Elves had stopped only to take quick meals or short rests. He knew they had done this for the sake of the Men among them and that had they not been present, might have pressed on without stopping at all. Certainly, the march to Pelargir would have been much swifter had _Edhil_ comprised the entire force from Ithilien. As it was, if the Men had not been mounted, Elrohir doubted that they could have kept up with the pace the Elves had set. 

They’d reached Eryn Gael the evening before in much less time than was normally needed to cover the distance from Pelargir. Such hardy riding in the wake of his first great battle had worn Eldarion out. He'd been badly in need of rest when they arrived on the doorstep of Legolas’s gracious home. 

Hardly had Legolas shown him his room when he’d yanked off his tunic and toppled exhaustedly into bed. He’d fallen asleep within seconds. When he awakened in the morning, he’d been a mass of aching muscles and stiff limbs. Taking pity on him, Elrohir had dunked him in a steaming bath fragrant with healing herbs, undeterred by the young man’s half-hearted protests.

Today, Elrohir had kept company with his nephew, helping him familiarize himself once more with the colony. It was many years since Eldarion had last visited and he'd been but a child. Elrohir brought him around, introduced him to various residents and showed him the ways of the _Edhil_ that the boy could not possibly witness within the stone walls of Minas Tirith. In this manner did the Elf-lord teach his sister’s son more about his elven heritage. 

And then the young man took yet another long nap. Elrohir remained with him, eventually dozing off himself. 

Legolas had been busy elsewhere and they’d barely spoken to each other the whole day. He wondered if it was deliberate. He smiled grimly to himself. It would not avail his friend anything. 

One thing he noted this evening. The clearing was devoid of folk. But he could hear the sounds of laughter and song in the distance. He wondered what was happening.

“Do you hear that, Uncle?” Eldarion queried. “And where is everybody?” 

On the point of admitting that he did not know either, Elrohir saw one of the men-at-arms approaching them. The man bowed his head in deference to his prince and the Elvenlord. 

“My lords, our hosts are holding a feast yonder,” he said, gesturing with his head in the direction whence they had heard the sounds of merriment. “Prince Legolas bade me to tell you as soon as you awakened. They desire your presence.”

They walked across the clearing, past the dwellings and down a gentle slope on the far side of the colony toward a great meadow a fair distance away. 

Across the long stretch of verdant space, Elrohir espied the light of a great bonfire and folk gathered around it in a wide circle. Elves moved to and fro bearing food and drink and others played instruments, thus bringing forth sweet music. The soldiers of Gondor were gathered to one side of the circle, somewhat diffident around their fair hosts but obviously enjoying themselves nonetheless. 

Elf-lord and royal nephew were still some distance from the bonfire when another tune was struck up. Elrohir saw Elves in the middle of the circle, standing around the fire. They began to dance. He noted the swirl of delicate fabric and the flash of twin knives. 

I know that dance, he realized. He hastened his steps, pulling a curious Eldarion along.

When they reached the edge of the circle the men greeted them and opened up their ranks for them. After acknowledging their greetings, Elrohir turned his attention to the center of the circle. 

There were three pairs of dancers. The Elf-women, graceful as does, held swaths of silken cloth in their hands, waving them as they moved. The _ellyn_ , no less graceful but with the more disciplined motion of warriors, had sheathed their knives only to draw them out once more with quicksilver speed, twirling them in their hands to the beat of the music. 

One in particular moved with such lithe yet precise motion that he commanded much attention. Elrohir’s eyes narrowed with decidedly greater interest. It was Legolas. 

The Elf-lord stared at the Elven prince with open admiration. It was many years since he had seen his friend dance. Even more years since Legolas taught him the steps of this particular dance. 

He and Elladan had visited Greenwood at a time of festival. He’d found the Silvan folk dances intriguing and persuaded Legolas to teach him the one that was being performed at present. 

He glanced at his nephew and smiled at the other’s wide-eyed stare and gaping mouth. Eldarion was patently enthralled by Legolas’s performance. The archer stood out among the male dancers not only because of his comeliness, but also because of the apparent effortlessness of his movements. Even among the men, Elrohir heard whispered comments to this end. 

He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of cloth and blades, the sinuous movements of slender limbs. And all the while, his eyes kept wandering back to Legolas. 

As simply garbed as the younger twin, the archer was clad in a gleaming shirt of palest green over a pair of muted grey breeches and light boots. Shorn of the more rugged garments in which he was most oft seen when he was abroad, he looked more like an ethereal being than a fearsome warrior of note. 

Elrohir stared at the prince, willing him to look his way, daring him to meet his eyes. As if responding to his thoughts, Legolas lifted his head and their gazes collided across the top of the bonfire for one brief moment. Elrohir sucked in his breath. 

In that moment he beheld a vision of incomparable beauty. Golden light almost formed a halo around shining hair, danced on smooth pale skin and shone from crystalline eyes. He remembered once more what had drawn him so inexorably to his friend those many years ago and vowed that the night would not pass without incident.

The music quickened, became martial in nature. The male dancers turned to face the fire, knives in lowered hands. 

One _elleth_ danced alone for a spell before whirling gracefully out of the circle whereupon an _ellon_ entered it and approached one of the warrior dancers. Just as he neared, the latter spun around and they locked knives in a series of thrilling movements. Elrohir remembered the sequence with singular clarity. He glanced at Legolas; knew he would be the last to gain a new partner. 

He did not know which Elf had been designated for the part nor did he care. He suddenly demanded the sheathed knives of two startled men-at-arms and swiftly strapped on the weapons. 

With perfect timing, he stepped into the circle just behind the archer, forestalling the Elf who was to have joined Legolas. There was a murmur of amazement and curious anticipation. As Legolas turned, Elrohir drew out his knives smoothly and, in the same graceful flurry of motion, crossed blades with the prince. 

Legolas stared at him in surprise but, true to his training and skill, did not falter. The blue eyes flashed challengingly. The twin took up the challenge. Suddenly, it was if they were back in Greenwood, teacher and student going through the motions over and over again until they could do it together unthinkingly and flawlessly. 

It was not common to see two Elven princes, one Eldarin, the other Sindarin, dance together; even rarer to see them move with such perfect synchrony in a dance that was seldom performed outside the boundaries of the woodland realm of Eryn Lasgalen. 

The other performers soon stopped to watch them and Elves and Men alike were reduced to silent astonishment and wonder, enchanted as if by a spell, as the two thrust, parried and locked knives, with never a step or motion out of place or beat. Eldarion’s eyes were now as wide as saucers and his jaw looked likely to hit the ground.

There was a reason behind the dance. It did not celebrate conflict but rather served as a reminder that there were no guarantees in war. When foes were of even strength there was no knowing who would win or lose. Therefore, it was also an admonition to the warmongers, a warning that more could be lost than gained when violence was used as a means to an end. 

In a final series of movements, their knives crossed once more and their eyes met across the locked blades. A symbolic draw between two opponents of equal stature and skill.

As the music came to an end, they drew apart, simultaneously sheathing their weapons on the last note. To the sounds of applause and praise they bowed their heads to each other, right hands going to their breasts in a gesture of deference to the other. 

Lifting his head, Elrohir caught Legolas’s eyes. For the space of a heartbeat something flickered between them. Then with a brief nod, Legolas moved away. 

Elrohir walked back to his nephew and the men-at-arms. They were loud in their praise, proud of their lord’s performance. Eldarion was particularly exhilarated and peppered his uncle with questions about the dance and how he had come to know it so well. 

The woodland folk plied the Elf-lord and his nephew with food and drink. Elrohir graciously accepted the offerings and stayed for a while with Eldarion and his men, occasionally fielding inquiries from the other Elves. And, to Eldarion’s amusement, skillfully fending off the inevitable flirtation or enticement by maids and other warriors alike. But after a reasonable period of time, he finally left the young prince’s side to join Legolas.

The Elven prince had retreated outside the circle and moved towards the first line of trees at the edge of the open space. He was seated with some friends on the trunk of a fallen oak in the semi-darkness beyond the reach of the bonfire. When the other Elves saw Elrohir approach, however, they respectfully gave way to him and returned to the circle. Legolas watched him with shadowed eyes.

“I did not think you would remember the steps,” he said when the sable-haired Elf settled beside him. “You did very well.”

“If I did well ‘tis because I had an excellent teacher,” Elrohir replied.

Legolas smiled briefly. “We were barely into our third century when I taught you this dance,” he commented. “It seemed strange to perform it with you after all this time.”

“Were you displeased?”

“Nay, why should I be displeased?”

“What did you feel then?”

Legolas looked at him, uncertainty clouding his eyes. “I do not know,” he murmured. “But I do not think we shall do this again.”

“Why not? We moved well together. We have always fought well together.” Elrohir chuckled softly. “And I have not forgotten how well we do _other things_ together.” 

Legolas did not miss the slight emphasis on that telling phrase. He suddenly rose to his feet. 

“That is what I fear,” he said under his breath. He turned to go but stopped when he heard the Elf-knight speak. 

“Where will you run?” Elrohir softly said, knowing the other’s keen ears would hear him. He heard the prince catch his breath. Rising to his feet, he faced Legolas. “Where will you hide?” he challenged with frightening gentleness. “There is no place in Middle-earth where you can conceal yourself from this, Calenlass _nîn_.” 

He reached out and placed his clenched fist against the other’s chest over his heart. 

Legolas pulled away with a start. Drawing a deep breath, he turned and hurriedly walked away. Elrohir watched him go, eyes glittering in the dark, a curious half-smile on his lips. 

***************************************  
Glossary:  
Edhil – Elves  
elleth – Elf-maid  
ellyn (sing. ellon) – male Elves  
Calenlass nîn - my Greenleaf

_To be continued…_


	6. V. Knight's Desire

Legolas looked out at the forest beyond his windows and breathed in the sweet herb-scented air. The dryadic loveliness of Ithilien had waxed with the arrival of the Elves and the forests flourished under their care. In turn, the woods nourished the Elves and brought them respite from weariness and grief. The archer sighed. If only he could find relief from his inner turmoil. 

He sensed a new presence and turned. Elrohir had entered his bedchamber. 

The twin looked about the room with a smile, delighting in the way it seemed almost part of the oak around which the dwelling had been built. It was also smaller and cozier than Legolas’s quarters in his father’s halls. 

“‘Tis not quite as large as your room in Greenwood,” he remarked.

“I like it well enough,” Legolas replied briefly.

Elrohir glanced at him and smiled. Legolas was not certain what to make of that smile. “I just realized,” the other said, “I have never been in this room before.”

Legolas lifted his chin a little challengingly. “You never had a reason to be here before.”

Elrohir’s smile changed; it no longer reached his eyes. “I do now,” he said with ominous softness.

Legolas felt his muscles tense. He had not wanted to confront Elrohir tonight. Yet he’d known something might happen after what occurred after the dance. He tried to clear his mind but it was difficult to think lucidly when the sudden pounding of his heart drowned out everything else. 

Elrohir seemed to sense his tension. He gazed at the prince and then, slowly and deliberately, raked his form with his eyes. He did not attempt to hide his appreciation of what he saw nor did he veil the desire he felt. 

More than ever, Legolas felt like a stag that had been trapped in a hunt. 

He was clad in naught but a thin bed-shirt and trousers and the raiment did nothing to conceal the hard planes and symmetrical contours of his slender frame. His hair hung loose, unbraided, like a gleaming waterfall of silver and gold. Under Elrohir’s predatory gaze, he suddenly felt vulnerable as he had never felt even when he fought Mordor’s forces before the Black Gate. 

_You will be mine, Legolas. I think you know that._

Legolas caught his breath as the words came back to him. He turned away and stared out the window and found himself contemplating escape though the opening. But he realized that doing so would not stop the inevitable confrontation; it would only merely postpone it or, worse, impel Elrohir to pursue him, something that might very well rouse the warrior’s ire and impulsiveness, a lethal combination. 

Elbereth only knew what the twin would do once he caught him and Legolas was certain he would for Elrohir was one of the most fleet-footed Elves ever to grace Middle-earth. He knew his friend well enough to fear that the darkling Elf might simply throw prudence to the wind and take him right in the clearing, unheeding of watching eyes or listening ears. Better to face Elrohir now in the privacy of his chamber. 

As if reading the prince’s thoughts, the twin closed the door. Legolas heard the rarely used bolt slide into place. His shoulders visibly stiffened. Elrohir had bolted the door not so much to keep others from entering the chamber but to hinder any other attempts of the prince to flee. Paralyzed by his nervousness, the archer could not bring himself to turn around as the other Elf approached him.

Elrohir stood behind Legolas, his body closer than was comfortable for the prince. “I have missed seeing your hair loose like this,” he remarked. He reached out and tucked a shining strand behind a shapely ear. It was silky to the touch, almost elusively so. 

Legolas moved his head slightly away. He would not admit it but he found Elrohir’s touch disturbing both to his senses and his thoughts. 

“ _Avo_ ,” he said, his voice a mere whisper. Don’t. 

Elrohir’s lips formed a small knowing smile; he perceived that the prince was affected by his proximity. 

“ _Avan?_ ” he countered. Don’t what?

Legolas threw a cautious glance at him. He found himself at a loss for words. What was it that he wanted Elrohir not to do? Not to touch him? Not to look at him in that discomforting way? He’d always been in command of himself, never giving away more than he desired, aloof and unattainable. Not even Aragorn had probed the innermost recesses of his heart and soul. Only the twins had truly known him though within the bounds of their millennia-long friendship, of course. But now Elrohir had stepped beyond those bounds once more, this time for good. If he elicited what he sought from Legolas it would not be for the here and now but for all eternity.

“Do you fear me?” It was more a statement than a question.

Legolas turned to face him warily. Elrohir was taller by an inch or so and his frame more solid. And they were fairly matched in strength for though Elrohir had _Edain_ blood in his veins, he counted the ancient Kings of Doriath and Gondolin among his forebears and the Lady Galadriel of the Golden Wood besides. 

“A little. You are not the Elrohir I knew.”

“We all change to one degree or another.”

“I would that you had not changed so much.”

“You would have me remain unaltered like unfeeling marble or stone?”

“Nay, but I would have you remain as I knew you. My best friend. Elladan’s beloved twin.” He hesitated. “Aragorn’s trusted kinsman.”

Elrohir’s eyes flashed warningly. “Estel again,” he remarked acidly. “I will not be his brother in your eyes. I will be Elrohir and no other.”

“I was not comparing you to him,” Legolas said. “I promised you that I would not. But I do wonder why you pursue me now.” At Elrohir’s puzzled expression, he said, “You have been bitter of late whenever I speak of him. Are you sure your desire for me is not simply because of what I felt for him?”

Elrohir laughed shortly. “If that were the case then I would not be here at all. I care not for Estel’s leavings.”

Legolas’s eyes turned glacial. “I am no plaything to be discarded at will by anyone, man or woman,” he said icily. “What I do, I do of my own free will. I am nobody’s leavings.”

Elrohir gazed at him. “Nay, you are not,” he murmured. “Despite all your years of life and the lovers you have known you are still quite untouched, _malthernilen_.”—my golden prince.

Legolas's eyes widened. The iciness within them faded to be replaced with uncertainty once more. 

“I do not seek to be Estel’s rival for a place in your heart,” Elrohir said. “Nay, what I seek is to supplant him. I want you to be wholly mine and nobody else’s.”

Legolas sucked in his breath. He had never known such depths of feeling could exist. He had to admit, it frightened him. To willingly give of one’s self so completely and hold nothing back was something he had never done for anyone. Now, Elrohir not only wanted it, he was intent on getting it.

“Elrohir,” he said shakily, “Do not ask of me what I cannot give.”

“I do not ,but I will take what you _can_ give.” He suddenly moved forward. 

Reflexively, Legolas stepped back and found himself against the wall. Before he could move again, Elrohir was upon him. 

The twin pushed the prince by his shoulders flush against the wall. He was not rough but neither was he gentle. He ignored the sudden hiss of breath Legolas let out at such handling and instead reached up with one hand to cup the prince’s sculpted jaw. 

“I thought you could not be more beautiful than you were on the day of Eldarion’s betrothal,” he said silkily. “I was wrong.” 

Legolas gasped as Elrohir kissed him full on the mouth. His first impulse was to fight and flee but the other anticipated this and grasped his wrists to hinder him. Bringing to bear all the power of the Eldarin blood flowing in his veins he trapped Legolas against the wall and kept him there.

Shock put Legolas at a disadvantage. He had always known the other’s strength but he had forgotten that passion and singular desire would impart to him more than enough force to subdue a fellow warrior. 

Memory slowed him down and made him susceptible to Elrohir’s demands. His lips were compelled to part and accept the other’s onslaught. Again the familiar wild thrill swept through his veins. Pleasure coursed through his limbs and cascaded over his body as it had in all their previous encounters. 

Reaction stripped him of resistance. He could summon neither the strength nor the will to stop the other. Elrohir plundered his mouth and he could do nothing. And a heady, heated sensation akin to liquid fire enveloped him like a glove. It forced a sound of unmistakable pleasure from him.

Elrohir drew away as suddenly as he had initiated the kiss. They were both breathless from the contact. Legolas stared at the warrior, his eyes wide with conflict. 

“You cannot deny that you enjoyed that,” Elrohir said with just a hint of a challenge in his tone. “More than you did when you last yielded to me.”

Legolas averted his gaze. “This is not right,” he murmured agitatedly.

“Why? ‘Tis not as if you have never done this before.”

“‘Twas different then.”

“How was it different?”

Legolas drew in a shaky breath. “‘Twas out of friendship. I wanted to help you.”

Elrohir laughed softly. “You certainly helped me. I would not have minded being helped that way these past many years.”

Legolas glared at him in exasperation for a second before turning his eyes away once more. “You know what I mean!” he said. “Elrohir, we have been the closest of friends for most of an age. ‘Tis difficult to see you as anything but that. My yielding to you was for our friendship’s sake, nothing more.” 

“Yet you told me once that I alone could make you feel pleasure in a man’s touch.”

Legolas felt his cheeks color. He had forgotten his words to Elrohir the last time they had lain together.

“You knew desire even then, Legolas,” Elrohir softly said. “And you say you knew it with Estel though you could not act upon it. But I am bound to no other and I love you with all my being. Can you not lay our past to rest and look to the future? Or are you afraid to look because of what it can mean to both of us?”

Legolas let out his breath. “Mayhap,” he whispered. 

“Look at me now,” Elrohir said. “What do you see, Calenlass? What do you feel?

Reluctantly Legolas turned his gaze upon Elrohir. He swallowed hard as he studied the fair countenance before him. Scion of the Eldar and Edain and Maiar, Elrohir was one of the comeliest of the Firstborn. Legolas had never denied the darkling Elf’s beauty and had even anchored himself on it when he first submitted to the other’s need for him. It had been the means by which he had initially endured their unlikely intimacy, and then learned to find pleasure in it. That beauty now pulled him. He could not ignore what the other’s touch awakened in him.

Elrohir saw the change in the blue eyes, the easing of tension in the finely wrought mouth. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss upon now pliant lips. Legolas shuddered at the tenderness of the caress. Of their own volition, his hands snaked around the twin’s waist. 

The prince trembled. His body betrayed him. It responded to Elrohir all too readily. He had no control whatsoever over his reactions, the way his nerves sang like the strings of a harp when stroked by a master musician. 

Like the onrushing flow of a raging river the pleasure swept through his veins. He could not help responding and the more he responded the more Elrohir gave back until they were both breathing raggedly. 

‘Valar! His kisses are more potent than I remember!’ Legolas dazedly thought.

The sound of fabric rending startled him out of his haze. He jerked back to find his shirt torn nearly halfway down the front. Elrohir ignored his shocked expression and simply finished ripping the material, leaving the shirt open to its hem. 

“What are you doing?” Legolas gasped.

“It will take forever to pull it over your head,” came the matter-of-fact answer. “I am not about to give you time to change your mind.”

He took the archer by the wrist and pulled him purposely to the bed. 

“You are impatient, Elrondion!”—son of Elrond—Legolas protested.

With a sudden movement, Elrohir spun Legolas around and compelled him to move backward. The edge of the bed caught at the back of the archer’s knees and he fell upon the mattress. Elrohir swiftly followed him down.

“I am done with waiting!” Elrohir retorted.

Legolas found himself torn between amusement at the other’s keenness and apprehension at what was to come. “I hope we won’t regret this,” he said under his breath.

“We won’t, I promise you,” Elrohir murmured. 

Before the prince could speak once more, he was silenced by another kiss, so deep and passionate that all sentient thought fled. Legolas gave up any notions of further resistance and yielded to his war-brother’s desire.

Their garments were divested with rapid precision. A pair of silvery eyes swiftly studied his body anew, dwelling on his groin with a dark gleam that made him catch his breath and made him feel butterflies in his belly not felt since his adolescence. Not even the prospect of facing Sauron’s hordes had unnerved him this deeply or easily. One glimpse of the Elf-knight’s formidable length increased the fluttering sensation and he chided himself for looking at all. 

He succumbed swiftly to Elrohir’s sensual onslaught, astounded anew by how well the twin knew his body. He had lain with many an Elf-maid since their first coupling but none had ever brought him to such peaks of pleasure as Elrohir did with seeming ease. And he had never been tempted to sample the attractions of another male _Edhel_. Only the Elf-knight roused that latent desire in him and stoked it with such enthralling skill that he made all the prince’s past affairs pale in comparison. Tonight was no exception. 

With long-honed ability, bold Imladris tamed, seduced, conquered anew the sacred core of primal Greenwood.

Elrohir was not merely a skilled lover, he was a consummate one. But the talent came not only from lengthy experience but also the twin’s sensitivity to his partners’ needs. Legolas had never heard less than glowing assessments of the Elf-lord’s abilities and when those same abilities had first been turned on him, he’d had to concede that the compliments were not exaggerated. 

Hands knowingly mapped his body, lips mercilessly teased his flesh; even whispered words inflamed his senses in their sheer eroticism – the warrior wielded as many weapons off the battlefield as on. Elrohir took his time pleasuring him, seeking the places that responded to his touch, bringing him repeatedly to the brink of completion then pulling back to prolong the sweet torture. Before long, the archer’s whole being was alive with exquisite sensation. 

Legolas gasped when Elrohir finally took him into his mouth, fondling him with lips and tongue until he was groaning and bucking his hips needfully. Incoherent words and meaningless sounds spilled from his lips as the pleasure mounted and peaked; he felt he could no longer endure it and still stay sane. Sensing that he was near the end of his forbearance, the twin adroitly delivered him into shattering release.

The tumult of completion left him nearly winded. He lay still, breathing hard and unevenly. The mattress dipped as Elrohir crept up to lie beside him, one arm curling around him possessively. 

At his touch, Legolas felt a slow fire blister its way through his nerves. Desire flaring in his veins, he languidly turned to face the warrior, blue eyes deepening to indigo, and pressed his lips to the other’s mouth, eliciting a low thrilling moan. He reached behind and unbraided the thick single plait that held back Elrohir’s mane then ran his fingers through the sable locks, luxuriating in the satin softness of it. 

Two millennia ago, when he’d first shared his bed with Elrohir, he had been for the most part, a passive partner. Despite the pleasure he had experienced, it had been too new to him, too different from what he had known. But the last time they’d lain together just over a century past, he’d taken a more active role, his passion awakened by Elrohir’s peerless loving. Now, in rediscovering the twin’s singular effect on him, he felt a burning need to give as well as take. Letting his hands roam, he touched and stroked the darkling Elf until the latter’s body thrummed with pleasure. He watched the twilight eyes darken dangerously and felt a thrill of anticipation shoot up his spine.

His actions had indeed astonished Elrohir and filled him with delight though he sensed that Legolas withheld a part of himself. The Elf-knight did not resent this emotional reticence. He knew his Greenleaf all too well. It was the prince’s way of protecting himself from heartbreak and the anguish that inevitably followed. For Elrohir, it was enough that Legolas yielded to him once more; their renewed intimacy a gift he treasured. And the reciprocation of his attentions served to deepen his love and desire, evident as he renewed his assault upon the other’s senses. 

He surprised the archer by urging him onto his stomach. It was a new experience for Legolas, to be unable to see his lover, to only feel what the other was doing to him.

He caught his breath as Elrohir covered him with his own body, bracing himself on either side of the archer’s torso with his powerful arms. He shivered deliciously as the entire lengths of their graceful frames molded together and warm kisses and shallow bites were teasingly administered to his nape and shoulders and the skin just behind his ears, a newly discovered spot highly sensitive to the twin’s caresses. He moaned as the twin’s lips wandered down his back, exploring, tasting, nibbling, all the way to the taut mounds of his rear. Before long he was gasping with every swipe and thrust of Elrohir’s tongue. 

By the time Elrohir crept up his full length once more, Legolas was trembling violently from the wild surges of sensation that raced through his very veins. Beyond shame, past prudence, he found himself imploring the twin to end the heady torment. 

Acquiescing to his plea, Elrohir gently eased him up onto his elbows and knees. He groaned with mingled relief and pleasure as the warrior entered him slowly then began to breathe erratically when the twin drove into him with deep, even strokes. Heated kisses were pressed to his back and shoulders leaving him all aquiver.

When Elrohir reached around his hips to cup him in his hand and fondle him to a second culmination, Legolas’s senses reeled wildly. The Elvenlord was a master at overwhelming him with multiple assaults, driving him mindless with rapture. Taken from behind, claimed from below – soon he was teetering on the brink of yet another explosion.

It was then that he felt it. An echo of pleasure not his own, building up swiftly, resounding in his mind and senses, building his pleasure to even greater heights. It occurred to him, even in his fogged state, that it must be Elrohir’s feelings that he was experiencing though how he did not have the time to ponder. For a moment later, release overcame them almost at the same instant. 

The result was near cataclysmic. The rapture, however faintly felt, reverberated through him, linked with his own rolling climax and stoked and drew it out until it seemed his whole being was one mass of pure and powerful sensation. With every overwhelming wave that washed over him, he cried out hoarsely, helplessly, clutched convulsively at the sheet that it nearly came apart. 

As he breathlessly rode out the multitude of sensations, he heard his name gasped out, Elrohir’s warm breath feathering his nape. He knew then that his assumption was right and that he had somehow tapped into Elrohir’s pleasure as it evolved into completion. Or had the warrior unleashed a gift or skill he’d previously hidden from his friend? Whatever it was, it left the prince completely drained and sated. 

After Elrohir withdrew from him, he rolled onto his back and looked tiredly at the sable-haired Elf. He was unaccountably pleased to see the twin looking as spent and contented as he himself felt. But though sleep beckoned, he forced himself to stay awake a while longer. He had to know...

When he’d regained enough breath to speak, he said: “What – what did you do?” At the Elf-knight’s questioning gaze, he added uncertainly, “I felt your pleasure. It was faint but it – it joined with mine and – and heightened it.” He shuddered as he recalled the almost unbearable rapture. “I have never felt anything like it before.”

Elrohir hesitated before answering. “As I told you I have loved you long and deeply. Mayhap ‘twas but my passion spilling over that you felt.”

Legolas peered at him wonderingly. For some reason, he had the feeling that the twin was holding something back. But before he could question him further, Elrohir forestalled him.

“Does it matter how it happened?” he softly said. “So long as you enjoyed it, that is all I care about.”

Legolas thought about it then nodded and relaxed back against the pillows.

“Valar, you’ve exhausted me,” he said with a tired grin. “I shall really need this night’s sleep.”

Elrohir’s answering smile seemed somewhat pensive. “I would ask a favor of you,” he murmured.

“If it is within my power.”

“I would that you still be by my side come morning,” he said. The twilight eyes quietly pleaded with him, the shadow of expected denial hovering at their edges. 

Legolas comprehended the significance of the request. Save for the last time they had lain together, he had always left Elrohir’s side by dawn. It had been his way of keeping his twofold roles as longtime boon companion and occasional lover from merging. Now Elrohir was asking him to stay. To be _both_.

He gazed at Elrohir. _Meldir, gwador, melethron._ Friend, brother, lover. He had not thought it possible for anyone to be all three to him. Yet here he was again, sharing his bed with his best friend and pledged brother. _When will I learn never to underestimate him?_

“I will be by your side,” Legolas whispered, educing a smile of such tender gratitude that his heart filled with gladness. 

He moved into Elrohir’s inviting embrace and laid his head upon his shoulder. _Strange_ , he thought bemusedly as sleep took hold of him, but this feels so right. _As if I have always belonged here..._

_To be continued…_


	7. VI. First Steps

Legolas felt his cheeks burn each time any of his people looked at him with their maddeningly indulgent smiles. It was blatantly apparent that the whole colony was aware of the turn his relationship with Elrohir had taken. The Elven prince would have liked to pretend that it was elvish perceptiveness that made his people cognizant of his intimacy with Elrohir. But in all honesty he had to admit it was his own impassioned outbursts that fateful night that had tipped them all off. 

Not that he could have helped himself even had he retained the ability to recall the proximity of other dwellings to his halls not to mention inconveniently sharp elven ears. Elrohir’s exquisite ministrations had rendered that virtually impossible. And no doubt would continue to do so when he resumed his nocturnal visits. He would just have to resign himself to being the object of knowing glances and smiles each morning after. Either that or move their activities out of earshot of everybody else.

Only Eldarion, who apparently slept as soundly as a Hobbit after a hefty meal, and the company of soldiers from Minas Tirith, whose quarters were at the edge of the settlement, remained ignorant of the state of affairs. Thank Elbereth there were some who didn’t know, the archer mused. He wasn’t sure he would be able to keep his dignity in front of Eldarion should the young prince find out he and his uncle were lovers. And the soldiers – well, they would not understand; they were only Men after all. 

One thing though was unmistakable. The folk of Eryn Gael were not only aware of his relationship with the Elvenlord, they most heartily approved of it. They were happy that their prince had apparently found his match in one as noble and beloved as Elrond’s younger son, the Greenwood Elves no less happy than the Galadhrim who had adored their former lord and lady’s grandchildren.

Legolas had to concede that there was something compelling about having a steady companion. In Elrohir he had a trusted counsellor, a pillar of strength and a source of comfort and encouragement on even the most vexing of days. And he acknowledged, if only to himself, that he had sorely missed the warmth and affection only a lover could provide. That Elrohir gave both and more besides made his contentment even more acute. It made him blush to admit it but he was actually looking forward to another coupling with the twin. 

However, Elrohir did not attempt further intimacy with him after that first night. Instead he spent much time with Eldarion, helping the young prince learn more about the Elves of Ithilien, further instructing him in the nuances of elven life and culture as could not be clearly imparted in the City of the Kings. When he was with Legolas, he conveyed his affection through other means whether it was simply helping him with his day-to-day tasks or taking on some of the prince’s responsibilities himself. 

Legolas realized the warrior was giving him time to come to terms with their new relationship. This act of love and concern touched him, further impelling him to seek time alone with the twin. He found himself planning toward that purpose. Not that he would ever tell the warrior about it. That would leave him completely helpless for the Elf-knight would most certainly make short and explosive work of his desire. 

Nonetheless, that desire was the reason why, a day after sending his nephew back to Minas Tirith, the younger twin found himself enjoying the pleasure of bathing in a crystal clear spring amidst the quiet grandeur of nature. Legolas had led him to this secluded spot soon after the morning meal. A lovely little spring with a small waterfall, its banks bound by rocks and tall reeds. Trees hid it from plain sight and made of it a sanctuary. The other Elves seldom came here for it was known to be their prince’s place of solitude. 

Elrohir broke the surface of the water and swiftly looked around. He frowned. The surface of the spring was absolutely still, except for the slight ripples his body had created. He was about to submerge once more when an alabaster form shot up before him, making him stumble backwards and fall back into the water. He came up sputtering to see Legolas laughing merrily at him. He glared at the prince. 

“That was – that was underhanded!” he growled. 

Legolas only chuckled more. With a motion of his head, he indicated to the twin that it was time to leave the spring. He turned and headed for the bank. Elrohir followed him slowly. He watched as the prince emerged from the water, a slender yet sleekly muscled form, shining pale in the bright sunlight. Like marble, Elrohir thought. White and cool and flawless. 

The two drew on their long breeches and shoes but left off their shirts and jerkins. Sitting beneath a rowan tree, they waited for the sun to dry their wet bodies. 

Elrohir became aware of the scent of his companion as they quietly waited. A whiff of it evoked images of tall trees and fragrant leaves, wild fruit and flowers on sun-dappled forest floors, herb-scented breezes and cold, clean streams. It was elusive; it defied proper description.

It was as seductive now as it had been the first time Legolas had submitted to him. And in their latest coupling it had enthralled him all over again. It had accompanied every kiss and caress, beguiled his senses as his eyes and lips and hands wandered over velvety skin, taut muscle and slender limbs, further stoking his desire, deepening the enchantment the prince wove around him. With an inward sigh, he shook the all too tantalizing memory from his mind.

Legolas handed him his shirt and jerkin. As he donned the shirt, he noted the way the muscles on the Elf’s lean frame pulled as he drew on his clothing. It never ceased to amaze him that someone so ethereal in appearance could be so strong and well made. Then again, there were many who made this false assumption much to their regret; that is, if they survived long enough to feel anything at all.

Elrohir snickered at the thought. At Legolas’s inquiring glance, he said, “Have you ever wondered why people see you as a fragile creature? You would think that after having seen you in battle, they would realize how mistaken they are. But nay, once you take off your armor they think you as delicate and breakable as crystal. Even I am guilty of this sometimes.” At Legolas’s amused smile, he added, “Though you thoroughly disabused me of that notion all over again two weeks ago.”

The prince smirked. “What did you expect of a fellow warrior?” 

“More resistance than you showed when I cornered you.” Elrohir looked at his companion with some puzzlement. “Our strength is fairly equal. You could have fought me. What hindered you?”

“Shock,” Legolas ruefully replied. “I could not think, let alone act.” He glanced at Elrohir. “Count yourself fortunate. Had I my wits about me, you wouldn’t have had me so easily.”

A gust of mirth escaped Elrohir’s lips at the not so subtle threat. Legolas studied him curiously.

“The wanting can sometimes be greater than the having, Elrohir,” he remarked. “Now that you have gained what you desire once more, are you content?” 

Elrohir frowned and looked at him. “But I have not gained it all,” he quietly said. “You may have yielded your body to me, but not your heart and soul. How can I be content? But as to wanting and having…” He paused a moment. “For me, the having is greater than the wanting. It is inconceivable to me that one should care only for the chase and cease to desire one’s quarry when one has finally captured it.” 

He turned his dusky eyes on the archer. “It is inconceivable that anyone should not want you after having won you. You are the most beautiful being I have ever known, Calenlass. And the most desirable.” He heard the prince’s shaky intake of breath and smiled. “And after having known you so intimately, I can confidently say, the most satisfying as well. Forgive me, I did not mean to discomfort you,” he laughed softly as deep color stained Legolas’s cheeks.

“You praise me too much,” the prince murmured.

“Nay, I only state the truth. This despite the fact that you have not truly yielded to me.” He smiled a little sadly at Legolas’s surprised reaction. “You held back part of yourself as usual, prince of Greenwood. I have not plumbed the depths of your passion.” He sighed. “In that I envy Estel that you surrendered your heart to him.”

Legolas hesitated. After a while, he murmured, “I did not.” When Elrohir looked at him skeptically, he looked into the distance, his eyes unseeing. “I said I loved him, I did not say I surrendered my heart,” he said. "'Tis frightening to give of one’s self so completely. I have never done so. I do not believe I can.”

“Still the guarded heart,” Elrohir whispered. He felt Legolas’s startled eyes upon him. “You keep your heart well shielded up to now. I think it a pity, _ernil daur_. For how will you ever experience love in all its splendor if you do not open yourself to it?” At the other’s silence, he said, "'Tis the reason that you are so desired. Like forbidden fruit, the unattainable is always sought in the prideful hope that it may be got.”

Legolas’s eyes narrowed. “And once got, wearied of?” he remarked somewhat caustically. “Will you tire of me should I ever yield all to you, Elf-knight?”

Elrohir met his eyes and held his gaze. “You should know me better than that, Legolas. What I treasure I cherish forever. And you are the greatest treasure of all.” He suddenly averted his eyes. “Yet Estel is far wealthier than I for you gave him your love no matter how little it may have been. You probably think me brash and confident but in truth I fear that I will never be as fortunate.” 

His voice caught at the last and he suddenly rose to his feet, snatched up his jerkin and walked away.

Legolas stared after his retreating form. 'I have never been offered love as pure and complete as his,' he realized with a pang. Always there had been prerequisites whether it was personal or political gain, comradeship in war or sheer physical desire. 

Elrohir loved him for himself. He always had as friend and brother. But even now, when he sought much more than that, he still cared for Legolas as selflessly as before. 

The prince remembered the past when the other had despaired, nearly giving in to grief rather than burden his friend with the knowledge of his desire. When Legolas had offered him what he needed, he had not accepted it so readily. And even when he finally did, he had almost not gone through with their coupling when he thought his friend unwilling. Just as he would not have forced himself upon Legolas that painful instance a century ago had the archer flatly refused to yield. Even then he gave me a choice though he made it nigh impossible for me to deny him, Legolas thought. 

A week ago, Legolas belatedly realized, he would not have pressed on had the prince protested in earnest. He would never have compelled his friend to do something against his will no matter how much it pained him in return. Elrohir’s admission of fear made that heartbreakingly clear. Grasping the full extent of what the other offered him, Legolas found himself lacking. Following on the heels of that thought came the unexpected need to _be_ worthy of such devotion. Rising, he followed the twin.

Elrohir drew on his jerkin then leaned pensively against a graceful beech. _You are a fool to offer your love where it is not wanted_ , his reason castigated him. _You should not have pursued this. It will only come to naught. His heart stays guarded and you will know rejection and grief._

He felt the prince’s hand on his shoulder. But he did not look at him. He was not certain he wanted to see what would be in the other’s eyes, least of all pity.

He started when he felt Legolas’s fingers on his face, compelling him to turn his head and look at him. Reluctantly, he obeyed. 

Sapphire pools met his gaze and despite his unhappiness he still felt the enchantment their beauty so easily wove. For the longest moment, the prince gazed at him and then, to Elrohir’s surprise, Legolas brushed his lips against his. He stared questioningly at the prince but the other simply pressed his mouth against his in reply.

Elrohir was torn between elation and confusion. Always had he been the one to initiate any act of love. To have Legolas take the initiative now was a great pleasure. He only wished he knew the reason why. Not that he could think very clearly when his friend was suddenly making a sensual duel of their kiss. It left him breathless.

Legolas drew away slightly and noted Elrohir’s bemusement. His smile grew predatory, a change that quickly registered on the other’s mind. Elrohir eyed him warily.

“ _Heltho._ ” Strip. 

Elrohir blinked. Had he really heard the huskily voiced command? 

“What?” he half gasped.

Legolas’s eyes gleamed. “You heard me well enough,” he almost purred. “Or do you require assistance?”

oOoOoOo

Much, much later, as he re-donned his clothes, Elrohir could not help wondering if he had dreamed up the whole experience though his body most emphatically told him it had been no illusion. But there had been a difference between this afternoon and the week before. 

There had been another dimension to their coupling. 

He had been startled by what the prince was capable of when he unleashed even a fraction of what he held back. Elrohir could not half imagine what it would be like if Legolas were to ever drop all restraint. But why did he do this in the first place? Elrohir wondered. 

_It was almost as if he wanted it so much that he..._ The darkling Elf frowned. Nay, that was too ridiculous to even consider. 

_I did._

He caught his breath and glanced at the prince. Legolas was busily drawing on his jerkin. He was not even looking at Elrohir. The Elf-lord wondered if he had imagined the reply. 

“You did not.” 

Elrohir sighed. “Have you made it your habit to read other people’s minds?” he said a little tartly. 

Legolas looked up and grinned. “Are you complaining?” 

Elrohir shook his head. “Of course not. I have nothing to hide from you.” He suddenly stopped and stared at the prince wordlessly for several moments as the other’s earlier reply finally registered in full. “You wanted it? Why?” he finally said. 

Legolas’s grin changed into a small smile. “Apart from enjoying the fruits of your considerable skill?” he teased. He chuckled when Elrohir rolled his eyes then pressed on. “If I am to learn to love you then I must open myself to your love,” he explained. “Is that not what you said, Aduial?” 

Elrohir started at the newly bestowed pet name. “Twilight?” he repeated wonderingly. 

"'Tis the color of your eyes,” Legolas said, his smile brightening. “Am I the only one who has ever thought to call you thus?” 

Elrohir could only nod for the sudden lump in his throat hindered speech of any kind. Legolas reached out and tucked a stray strand of raven hair behind his ear. The intimate gesture made the twin smile in turn. 

Legolas took his lover’s hands in his, clasping them together within his own palms. “Only a fool would let someone like you slip through his fingers,” he softly said. “For you alone will I try to yield all that I am and have. Only you, Elrohir, nobody else.” 

Elrohir swallowed the lump, wordlessly pulled the prince into his arms and held him tight against his heart. And when he felt the other’s arms encircle him in as snug an embrace, he fervently hoped it wasn’t just a dream. 'Ah, Elbereth, please let this be real,' he thought. 

_It is._

Elrohir smiled.

***********************************  
Glossary:  
ernil daur – forest prince 

_To be continued…_


	8. VII. Surprises

Minas Tirith, _Úrui_ F.A. 21  
“We will have to be discreet.” Legolas noted Elrohir’s quick frown. “Aragorn’s vassals will not understand,” he reminded his friend. “Our ways are not theirs. They will regard our relationship as unnatural and abhorrent.” 

The two were travelling on horseback to Minas Tirith for Elrohir had been summoned back by the King. About them were several Elven warriors. 

It was more than a month since Elrohir had accompanied Legolas back to Ithilien after the Haradrim incursion. It was a month the Rivendell Elf had savored especially after he had sent his royal nephew back to Minas Tirith as promised. For in Ithilien there had been no prying eyes to mar the sweet interlude he had shared with his beloved prince. Legolas’s words brought back the starkness of reality.

“I know that all too well,” the twin muttered. 

Legolas added: “Besides, if they were suspicious enough before of my intentions they will be doubly so now even should they tolerate our relationship. They will say that our intimacy will increase my influence over you and, through you, over Aragorn. Your prolonged stay in Ithilien will set tongues wagging if it has not already. And the common folk will be even less understanding. Elves are still a strange people to them even if they have accepted our presence here.” 

Elrohir nodded resignedly. He glanced up at the Tower of Ecthelion. They had passed the Rammas Echor and were now traversing the Pelennor. About them, peasant folk and other travellers stared at them with a mixture of reverence and awe and just a hint of fear. 

It was unusual enough to have their king’s foster-brother in their midst journeying as casually as they were. It was even more unusual to see him in the company of several _Edhil_. Elrohir noted how many quickly looked away should they meet the eyes of any of the Elves.

“What of Estel and Arwen?” he asked. “I would have them know at least.” When Legolas did not answer at once, he looked at him curiously. “Surely you do not fear their censure.”

"'Tis not their censure I fear. But I would not have them worry that you might be diverted from your duties to Gondor because of me.” When Elrohir would have protested, Legolas quelled him with a stare. “You can be more stubborn than a Dwarf with a grudge and as tenacious as a Hobbit in search of his second breakfast. I would not blame them if they thought you capable of casting aside your obligations should you think it the only way to have what you desire. You know that Eldarion depends on you and looks to you for guidance and training.”

Elrohir drew in his breath, his mouth curling into a scowl. “I never thought I would regret coming back to him,” he said. “Are we to stay apart then for the duration of this visit?”

Legolas smiled. “Discretion is not synonymous with chastity if that is what you mean,” he chuckled. 

Elrohir said in a low voice, "'Tis not only your bed that I seek. I would have your company, too.”

His words recalled to Legolas that it was not desire that drove Elrohir’s love but rather the other way around. The prince reached out his hand to squeeze the other’s in a rare public display of affection. 

They went straight to the King’s study upon their arrival. As they made their progress down the corridors, Legolas observed the reactions of the men they met along the way. Their greetings to him were friendly enough but he could sense the underlying interest in his being in long company with their king’s brother. Elrohir’s prolonged visit to Ithilien had indeed set off speculation about them.

Arwen was within with her husband. As soon as her brother stepped into the room, she hurried to him and swept him into a tight embrace while Aragorn greeted Legolas. 

“At last you are here!” she said. She drew back and a scolding look settled on her face. “Would it have been too much to ask of you and Eldarion to see me before heading off for Ithilien?” she demanded. “I had to be content with Estel’s assurances that you were both well!”

Elrohir’s eyes widened with guilt. “Forgive me, _thel nîn_ ”—my sister—he said. “I did not mean to distress you.”

She laughed softly. “I am only teasing you, _mellen_. I know you had been wanting to visit with Legolas these past many years.” She looked to her friend, her eyes twinkling. “I hope he did not run afoul of your people as he has done in the past?”

“Arwen!” Elrohir protested. 

Legolas and Aragorn laughed. “You need not have worried,” Legolas said. “He was a paragon of virtue – for the most part.” He smiled wickedly when Elrohir colored somewhat.

Aragorn chuckled. “I am glad we will not have to contend with the wrath of your people then. Gondor has not yet fully recovered from our last conflict.” He looked at his foster-brother. "'Tis good of you to hearken to my summons so swiftly though, in truth, you need not have returned so soon.”

“Your messenger told us that a matter of great importance had arisen,” Elrohir said.

Aragorn nodded. “We received a missive from the Haradrim asking us to treat with them. They are sending a delegation here for this purpose. They should be here within a fortnight. I would like you to take part in the talks.”

Elrohir frowned. “Then you mean to parley with them again?” he asked.

“If a new treaty with them will ensure lasting peace in our lands I see no reason why we should not at least hear what they have to offer.” He glanced at Legolas. “I would have you present as well, my friend. You may provide some insight as to their motives.”

Legolas shook his head. “I do not think that wise, Aragorn. I have already been subjected to a greater amount of scrutiny than I find comfortable.”

“But you must be present, Legolas,” Elrohir insisted. “Your senses are even keener than mine and all the more valuable for our needs.” He looked to Aragorn. “What if he did not remain at our side but simply were there as an onlooker? Surely no one would take it amiss that the lord of Eryn Gael should have an interest in the proceedings.”

Aragorn nodded. “An excellent suggestion, _gwanur nîn_. What say you, Legolas?” At the Elf’s reluctant assent, he smiled with satisfaction. “Now, go and refresh yourselves. We expect you to join us for dinner.”

Dinner was not the casual affair Elrohir had hoped for. Several of Aragorn’s counsellors and barons were present for the talk was about the coming meeting with the Southrons. He did not fail to notice the surreptitious looks the men threw at Legolas though the prince kept silent for the most part. 

Well into the meal, his annoyance with their demeanor got the better of him and he defiantly reached under the table and grasped Legolas’s hand. His friend did not visibly start but he sent a quizzical glance in the twin’s direction. Elrohir did not return the glance but stroked the Elf’s palm with his thumb. The gesture was not lost on Legolas. He knew it was Elrohir’s way of showing him that he was not alone among these rather hostile Men. It reminded him how affectionate and supportive Elrohir could be with those he loved. 

Much later, Aragorn and his queen walked together to their chamber. Dinner had lasted late into the night and he and Arwen were relieved to finally get away. 

As they slowly proceeded down the passageway, Arwen said, “I would like Legolas to join us for breakfast, Estel. We have not really had the chance to talk with him about more than politics and war.”

Aragorn smiled. “Aye, that is so. Perhaps we can tell him now. We are near his chamber.”

“But he may already be asleep,” Arwen pointed out. “That he left dinner before we were done must mean that he was wearied by his journey here.”

“Legolas? Wearied by a mere two-day ride?” Aragorn scoffed mildly. “More like he was tired of the scrutiny of the others. Elrohir was angered by that or did you not notice?”

“I noticed. ‘Tis quite apparent why he excused himself so early as well.”

They stopped as the passageway branched off into two. “I might as well inform him now,” Aragorn said. 

He walked to the fair _Edhel_ ’s door. He was about to open it when he heard soft sounds from within. For a moment he stared at the door in some surprise. Then a wolfish grin spread on his lips. 

He backed away and returned to his wife. Arwen looked at him in bemusement. “That was swift,” she said. “What did he say?”

Aragorn chuckled. “Our esteemed Elf is rather busy at the moment. I do not think he would have welcomed an intrusion just now.”

Arwen stared at him then suddenly giggled. “You are right, Estel, he is not tired. But he will undoubtedly be before long!”

They went on to their own chamber, laughing as they did.

oOoOoOo

Aragorn made his way to his friend’s room early the following morning. He assumed that the archer would have dispensed with his night’s companion by then. After all, no lady with any sense would stay the entire night and run the risk of being seen by somebody who might carry the tale to the wrong person – such as an irate father or a jealous husband. Therefore, he opened the door with confidence and walked in.

He stopped at the threshold and stared, his mouth dropping open with surprise. His foster-brother stared back at him.

It was not so much Elrohir’s presence in Legolas’s room at such an early hour that had so taken Aragorn aback. It was the fact that the twin was in the process of donning his shirt, the very garment he had worn the night before, that made the King stare. There was also the matter of Elrohir’s dark hair not yet tidily bound or plaited. And the bed showed every sign of having been put to use for purposes other than sleep confirming his assumption that the Elf-prince had not spent the night alone. 

“What are you doing here?” Aragorn finally demanded, his shock rendering him less than tactful.

Elrohir glared back. “What are you doing walking into Legolas’s room without knocking?” he asked pointedly.

A dark eyebrow rose alarmingly as the King took exception to his brother’s tone of voice. Things may have gone ill if not for another, more timely intrusion. 

“Peace, Elrohir. Aragorn and I never stood on ceremony during our travels together.” Legolas came out of the bathing chamber. Though far from fully dressed and his fair hair still hung unbraided, he looked quite unruffled by the sight of king and lover staring at each other across his chamber. “We did not bother with knocking and on occasion had to share quarters as well.”

Elrohir turned intensely quizzical eyes on him at that. Aragorn did not miss the meaning behind his stare. Legolas prudently chose to ignore it.

“Well, Aragorn, you are early,” he said coolly. “Not another crisis, I hope?”

Aragorn glanced from the prince to his brother suspiciously. “Nay, I only came to ask you to join us for breakfast. Arwen and Eldarion are already at table.”

“Then we must not keep them waiting. We will join you as soon as we are dressed.”

Aragorn threw one more curious look at Elrohir then nodded. Without another word, he departed.

Elrohir had not stopped staring at Legolas. “You shared quarters?” he asked acidly.

Legolas sighed. “Your imagination outstrips reality, Elrohir. Do not put malice where there is none. I have already had enough of that since last night.”

Elrohir’s eyes lost their edge. “I am sorry,” he said softly. “I did not mean to add to your distress.” 

Legolas smiled to take the bite from his words. “Go and get dressed,” he said. “I do not wish to keep the others from their meal overlong.”

Only after Elrohir departed did Legolas drop his cool demeanor. He rolled his eyes and thought: And we have only just arrived!

oOoOoOo

Aragorn’s odd expression was not lost on his wife. She watched him wonderingly as he joined her and Eldarion in the intimate alcove near their apartments where they frequently had their morning meals. She was blooming in the first months of her pregnancy though the only visible sign as yet that she was with child was her slightly thickened waist. For now, their daughters did not join them for they were considered too young and impatient to endure the various discussions that usually took place at these meals.

As he took his seat opposite her, Arwen asked, “What ails you, Estel? You look as if you have swallowed a fly.”

The King looked up and let his breath out. “I went to invite Legolas to join us as you bid,” he slowly said.

“And?”

“Elrohir was in his room.”

The Queen just looked at him. “And there is something wrong with my brother being in Legolas’s room?” she said.

“Nay, ‘tis not that. He had just finished dressing. And the bed... Arwen, I believe he was our friend’s companion last night.” The last sentence was uttered with a great deal of hesitation. 

Arwen went still while Eldarion gaped at his father. 

“I – see,” she murmured. 

Eldarion, on the other hand, gasped and blurted out, “So that’s what happened in Eryn Gael!” When his parents looked at him with raised eyebrows, he blushed and elucidated further. “‘Twas our second night. There was a celebration and Uncle Elrohir performed this wonderful dance with Legolas using knives. They spoke to each other afterwards and I thought there seemed to be tension between them. Later that same night, I remember waking up because of the sounds of – of, well, coupling.” 

He flushed even redder. It was embarrassing to speak of such matters before his mother. But Arwen merely smiled encouragingly. He went on though his cheeks remained rosy with discomfort. “I did not really pay attention. I just assumed that either Uncle Elrohir or Legolas had spent the night with someone. I never thought that they’d spent the night with each other!” 

His parents fell silent after he finished his tale. Then Arwen sighed. “I am not surprised.”

Aragorn and Eldarion stared at her. “You are not?” the King repeated. “Pray tell, why not?”

She placed her elbows on the table and steepled her hands in front of her meditatively. ”Something happened between them long before you were born, Estel. You see, my brother’s feelings for Legolas changed at one point from that of friendship to desire.” She lifted an elegant eyebrow at her husband when he stared at her in dazed disbelief. 

Aragorn broke out of his daze. “What-what came of this desire?” he managed to ask. 

Arwen continued softly. “Elrohir was going to end their friendship for their closeness had become a torment to him, his sorrow was so great. But Legolas refused to let their friendship end. To save it he offered to quench Elrohir’s desire.” She stopped again as her husband’s mouth now dropped open with even more shock than before. “What? You were raised in Imladris; you know the ways of my kindred. Are you now going to close your mind and judge them like a mere Man?”

“Nay, of course not!” Aragorn replied. “Only, it does not seem possible. Elrohir was ever a lover of female charms. I cannot conceive of him turning his desires elsewhere.”

“Then you do not know him as well as you thought you did,” Arwen smiled slightly. “Neither he nor Elladan passed up the chance to sample the pleasures of male flesh. ‘Tis Legolas who never showed an inclination for his own kind.” She paused long enough to let her husband and son digest the information. 

Aragorn slightly reddened, remembering the brief time when the Elven prince had been inordinately close to him. Prudently, he decided not to contradict his beloved on the point of Legolas’s proclivities. After all, _that_ had been but an aberration brought on by the extremes of war and peril. 

“I agree that Elrohir’s preferences lay for the most part with female-kind,” Arwen continued. “Indeed, after Legolas yielded to him, he returned to his old ways, bedding any fair maiden who so much as looked his way. Yet Legolas remained dearer to him than any other. But not until this moment has it become clear that his regard was much more than I had been led to believe.”

“I never would have guessed that such a thing had come to pass between them,” Aragorn admitted. 

“But had you not noticed that Elrohir had restrained himself of late?” Arwen asked. “I know he never bedded another _ellon_ after Legolas but I am also reasonably certain that he has not lain with any woman since he made his choice to be of Elvenkind more than twenty years ago. For my brother that is an incredibly long time to remain chaste.”

“Mayhap he can no longer find satisfaction with anyone but the one he loves,” Eldarion murmured, empathy and concern for his adored uncle limning his voice.

Arwen nodded, pleased with her son’s perspicacity. “They are very alike. They can love deeply in friendship but in matters of the heart they are both very cautious.”

“Legolas is very much the more guarded of the two,” Aragorn mused. “Elrohir does not fear to give his love where he would.” 

“But never true love, Estel,” Arwen said softly. “He was open to it but he never felt such great passion for anyone. I often despaired that he would never know it despite the depths of feeling that he is capable of. Are you not glad he has finally come to love someone?”

"'Tis not his choice that I have reservations about, _melethril_ ”—lover—Aragorn said. “Though I will admit I had never imagined Legolas would be it. But I worry that this may become known to others and thereby cause problems. The men of these later times know little of the nature of Elves and simply will not accept such a relationship.”

“But how would others learn of this?” Eldarion asked, puzzled. His eyes widened at the pointed look his father cast him. “But they would never be so careless!” 

Aragorn sighed and said: “Not Legolas. But your uncle, while a formidable diplomat in matters of government, is not quite as tempered in matters close to his heart. I fear he will forget his place and throw prudence to the wind should anyone treat Legolas with open disrespect, which, regrettably, some do. Considering his place in this kingdom is second only to ours, that could provide fodder for scandal.” He pursed his lips. “It might in turn impel him to take his leave of Gondor in order to forestall further trouble.”

“ _Hervenn_ , you worry overmuch,” Arwen chided him gently. “‘Tis not as if it will come to pass. And you should know Legolas well enough to be confident that he would never let Elrohir forget his position in court.”

Aragorn shook his head. “But what of Elrohir? He can be very stubborn, _ind nîn_. And possessive besides! You should have seen his expression earlier when I walked into Legolas’s room without knocking and afterwards when he learned that we had shared quarters during the Quest. I wager he would have bitten my head off had I not been his brother!”

Arwen giggled while Eldarion could not help snickering. “Forgive him, Estel. ‘Tis his first time to truly love.” She reached over and pressed his hand reassuringly. “You must trust him, _meleth nîn_. At least, be glad his choice is someone we also love and trust. Legolas will temper him. He will be good for him.” 

“I hope so. I would not have Elrohir quit this kingdom over— over— ”

“Love?” Arwen said with raised eyebrows. Her husband started at the subtle reminder of what his queen had sacrificed for that very same emotion. He flashed a boyish, scapegrace grin that had both his wife and son softly laughing.

Arwen glanced up. “Hush, we can continue this later.” She smiled a welcome at Legolas as he made his appearance. A few minutes later, Elrohir joined them as well.

The meal started ordinarily enough. Arwen questioned Legolas about Eryn Gael and news of his father’s realm in the Greenwood. In turn, she imparted the latest news to come from Elladan and Nimeithel in Rivendell. 

Naturally, talk of Elladan inevitably led to stories of his infamous adventures with Elrohir and Legolas and later Aragorn as well. Before long, they were all laughing at the most memorable incidents the four older diners could recall. For the most part, Elrohir enjoyed himself though he felt some dismay and embarrassment when some of his more unsavory escapades were retold in front of a rather astonished Eldarion. 

Somewhere along the way, the talk led to the Quest and the roles Aragorn and Legolas had played in it. It was at this point that Elrohir began to feel unease. His disquiet grew as the two recounted the moments when they had separated from the Ring-bearer and traveled across Rohan with Gimli the Dwarf in search of their two captive friends. His discomfort reached its peak when the two recalled the battles and the weary, anxious lulls in between. He did not fail to miss the deeper shadings in Legolas’s eyes when Aragorn spoke of having had to rely on each other for comfort and encouragement when times seemed too dark to bear. 

Feeling excluded and something more besides, Elrohir suddenly rose from his seat to the surprise of the others. “If you will excuse me,” he muttered.

Arwen looked up at him in surprise, noting his displeasure. “What is wrong, _tor nîn_?”—my brother—she asked.

“Nothing is wrong, _muinthel_ ”—sister—he curtly replied. “Pray, continue with your tales. I would not ruin your enjoyment of them.”

Legolas caught the slight edge in the twin’s voice. He stared at Elrohir but the latter avoided his eyes.

“Uncle?”

Eldarion was also staring at the twin with worry, but to his confusion and hurt, Elrohir only walked away. Legolas glanced at Aragorn whose brow had creased with concern. “Let me talk to him,” he murmured and rose to follow the warrior.

“Elrohir!”

The twin halted when his name was called. Legolas caught up with him before Elrohir could leave the alcove.

“What ails you?” he asked. “And do not tell me nothing is wrong.” 

Elrohir let out a frustrated sigh. “I am only weary of listening again to tales of the Quest.” 

Legolas peered at him. “That cannot be the only reason, _pen neth_.”

“Young one!” Elrohir’s expression turned mulish. “ _You_ are the younger by many years, Legolas!” he said somewhat heatedly. “I will not have you treat me as if I were a child.”

“But you are acting like one,” Legolas retorted though mildly. “You have caused concern for your family and not given them the comfort of a reasonable excuse.”

Elrohir flushed and looked down vexedly. “I know,” he muttered. He lifted troubled eyes to the prince. “It’s just that... Ah, I wish you and Estel would not go on and on about your adventures together. I have already heard enough of them to last me several lifetimes.”

Legolas stared at him in surprise. Then he noted the glance the twin darted at Aragorn and his tightened lips. It came to him in a flash. “Sweet Eru, you are jealous!” he softly exclaimed. The raven-haired Elf glared at him. “Elrohir, there is nothing to be jealous about!”

“Yet I saw how you regarded him so reverently.”

“He was my avowed captain throughout the Quest.”

“And more besides,” Elrohir could not help saying. He caught himself as Legolas raised one eyebrow ominously. He crossed his arms in a gesture of frustration. “I am sorry, that was uncalled for. But whenever you speak of that time – of what you shared...” He heaved a sigh. “It feels as if in the months you spent together on the Quest, you forged a friendship with Estel that has replaced and even surpassed that which we have shared in over three thousand years.” 

Legolas shook his head vehemently. “That is not so,” he said. “You and Elladan have always been my closest friends.”

“Yet you came to care for Estel far more deeply than you ever have for either of us,” Elrohir said softly. “I told you I would demand nothing of you, but neither do I wish to be reminded of—” He stopped and fell silent. But his distress was palpable.

Legolas softened. “Whatever I felt for him is done with,” he murmured. “Come, let us go back.” When Elrohir remained reluctant, Legolas neared him and clasped his shoulder. “In one thing have you bested all others,” he quietly said. At the other’s puzzled expression, he added, “You have had me as no other ever has, Aduial. Surely that counts?”

Elrohir blushed then but a small smile finally appeared on his lips. A faint chuckle escaped him. “You are right, Legolas, I am acting like a child,” he said ruefully. “Why you put up with me is a mystery.”

Legolas grinned. “You were no child last night,” he teased.

The blush deepened and the warrior had to look away for a moment. But after a while, he laughed with Legolas before composing himself. “Very well, let us go back that I may apologize and own myself a rogue for worrying them so.” 

They returned to the table whereupon Elrohir kissed his sister on her smooth forehead, murmured an apology to his foster-brother and squeezed his relieved nephew’s shoulder. As they took their seats once more, Arwen glanced at her husband with a triumphant smile. Aragorn grinned back indulgently.

***********************************  
Glossary:  
Úrui – Sindarin for August  
mellen – my dear  
gwanur – ‘brother’ or ‘sister’ but a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman  
hervenn – husband  
ind nîn – my heart  
meleth nîn – my love

_To be continued…_


	9. VIII. Twilight's Caress

In accordance with Legolas’s wishes, Elrohir always went to the archer’s room as discreetly as was possible for an Elf. By human standards, that meant near invisibility. Tonight was no different. 

He traversed the corridor to the guest chambers and slipped into the Elven prince’s room with no one the wiser. Come morning, he would leave and be back in his own apartment without anyone knowing he’d ever left it in the first place.

Legolas came out of the bathing chamber to find him seated on the sill of the large window by the bed, looking down at his lap where his hand rested, half-clenched. Elrohir looked up as he approached and a smile graced his handsome features. It was a smile that was at once tender and loving yet pensive as well, almost heartbreakingly so.

“What is it?” he asked as he came to stand before him.

Elrohir’s eyes gleamed but he said no word. Instead, he put his arms around the archer’s waist and pulled him close, resting his head against the other’s chest. Legolas looked down upon the raven head, raised a hand to cradle the twin close, wondering at his mood.

“Is something wrong?” he queried, stroking the sable tresses, thinking how silky they were to the touch.

“Nay, Calenlass,” came the murmured response. 

“Then why so quiet?” Legolas pressed him. “You are not yourself tonight, Elrohir.”

A gentle shake of the head preceded the warrior’s reply. “I have only been thinking about a matter of importance, that is all.”

“And what matter is this?”

A delicious shiver snaked through him when, for an answer, Elrohir turned his face into his chest, nudged his night-robe open and nuzzled his flesh affectionately. A moment, later, he felt the Elf-knight’s warm lips gently sucking a roseate nipple, teasing it into a hard bud. A moan escaped his lips. 

Elrohir simply and instinctively knew how to unravel him. With uncanny facility, he consistently elicited this response from the archer. 

The twin untied the sash of his robe and slipped the garment off his lithe frame. He then loosened the lacings on the archer’s bed-trousers, allowing the garment to slide down the slender limbs. His hands began to map the slopes and shallows of the prince’s abdomen, loins and thighs. Legolas closed his eyes, trembling as the roving lips and hands wrought sensation upon sensation on his awakening body. 

Just when he was wondering when the delightful torment would end, the Elf-knight rose to his feet and sealed their mouths in searing harmony. Without breaking the kiss, Elrohir walked him backwards until the edge of the bed caught at the backs of his knees. 

He would have fallen back abruptly but the warrior caught him and deftly lowered him to the bed. He shed his own clothes unhurriedly, wordlessly, regarding the prone prince with an intensity that made Legolas shiver. 

He slipped onto the bed, covering the archer with his body, locking their lips once more into a heated duel, beginning a progression of passionate caresses that soon had the golden-haired Elf pleading for mercy. 

Legolas was both stunned and moved. 

There was a striking tenderness, a purity of emotion in Elrohir’s love-play. Though lost in the wilderness of pleasure the twin led him into, he was still coherent enough to realize that every stroke and kiss and caress was for him. This night, Elrohir was subsuming his own lust, foregoing much of his own pleasure, focusing on bringing the prince to as much bliss as he could endure.

Will he, nill he, Legolas was slowly and lovingly reduced to tremulous helplessness as the Elf-knight assiduously worshipped his body. From the sensitive tips of his ears to the smooth column of his neck; the hard plains of his chest to the taut wash of his belly; the firm slope of his back to the tight cheeks of his bottom; the creamy flesh of his thighs to the delicate skin of his ankles. Not a part of his body was left untouched, unkissed, unmarked.

So complete was Elrohir’s adoration of Legolas’s entirety that when he finally took his almost painfully turgid length into the silky warmth of his mouth, the prince reared wildly, held down only by dint of the warrior’s powerful grip on his hips. In a much shorter time than he was used to, Legolas came to shattering completion the force of which left him flushed, drained and breathless.

And then, to his shock and amazement, Elrohir did it all over again, bringing him to a second and then a third release, until he was weakly begging for a brief respite. It seemed there was such a thing as too much bliss after all.

Only then did Elrohir make a move to ease himself, burying himself deep within his prince, then drawing out this last love-act of the night to its fullest. Slowly, gently, he drove into the archer, taking his time, giving Legolas a chance to recover his breath, tenderly bringing him back to arousal. Pleasure built within them gradually, Elrohir finally allowing himself to let go, Legolas feeling the full reawakening of his being. The rapture continued to spiral with every stroke of their bodies against each other.

As they neared their peak, Elrohir leaned down and brushed his mouth across the prince’s kiss-bruised lips before slipping between them to tease him from within. Of a sudden, pleasure both his and Elrohir’s flooded Legolas’s senses. Akin to what he had experienced in Ithilien their first night together but far more intense and fraught with more than mere physical sensation. And as before, it heightened every rapturous wave that swept through him and over him. 

Totally bereft of lucid thought by now, he could only feel, react, shudder his release beneath the warrior’s hard body; he’d never experienced a climax so sweet and mellow yet so profoundly satisfying in his life. And then an inexplicable feeling of joy and fulfillment coursed through him when Elrohir came to his own completion. He’d always derived pleasure from the unique sensation of the twin’s warm seed spilling within him but tonight it seemed twofold as the sensation blended with an emotion he could not quite define. All he knew was that he was utterly contented and curiously serene.

Exhausted yet happy beyond measure, he nestled against Elrohir after the twin drew the covers up over their bodies. He smiled as the Elvenlord wrapped protective arms about him. 

Just as sleep claimed him, he heard the Elf-knight’s soft, soothing voice murmur, “Have my love, Calenlass.”

oOoOoOo

Legolas woke up as was his habit at the break of dawn. But Elrohir had risen even earlier. He was quietly seated on the edge of the bed, already dressed, watching him with a doting smile as he came fully awake. Legolas sat up sleepily and as he did, Elrohir reached out and tucked an unruly rivulet of silver and gold behind his ear. The prince smiled as the gesture recalled to him the sweet fury of the previous night’s loving.

Elrohir’s loving, he realized with a jolt. A sense of wonder rushed through him. 

'I know he loves me,' he thought, 'but I did not understand the depths of his feelings for me until last night.'

“How do you feel?” Elrohir softly queried when he saw the prince’s eyes turn lucid with full awareness.

“Tired,” Legolas admitted. “Satisfied,” he added with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Happy, I hope?” Elrohir quietly asked.

Legolas drew a deep breath and marveled at how light and free he felt. 

“Aye, very,” he sighed. He looked affectionately at the twin. “You were amazing. Thank you, _gwador._ ”

To his disconcertment, Elrohir’s grey eyes clouded over. Puzzled at first, he soon comprehended its cause. 

He had called the Elf-knight _gwador_ —sworn brother—instead of _melethron_. Considering what had just passed between them, it was ludicrously, almost heartrendingly inadequate. But try as he might, Legolas could not quite bring himself to cross that final bridge. To call Elrohir lover was to irrevocably commit himself to something he still did not think himself ready for. 

He looked at Elrohir guiltily, his ocean-hued eyes imploring. “Please, Aduial, I cannot...”

The warrior accepted the renewed rebuff. Disappointment darkened his twilight eyes but not resentment or any hint of recrimination. 

He only said, ”I know. Do not force yourself, _meleth nîn_.”—my love. He uttered the endearment with the ease of one who embraced and savored its meaning.

At once, Legolas stiffened. Just as he could not be more intimate beyond the pet name he had given his friend, so could he not quite accept the same from the twin. Not yet.

Elrohir saw his reaction and understood. Though it stung deeply, he did not show umbrage and vowed not to upset Legolas again with such loving usage. Not until the prince was ready. 

“I had better go,” he said. “Will you join us at breakfast?”

Legolas nodded, grateful for the warrior’s silence on his patently unreasonable response. Elrohir half-turned, hesitated, then faced him once more to regard him tentatively. He reached for Legolas’s hand and clasped it tightly. He smiled slightly as he felt the prince return his grip.

“Whatever you decide, I will abide by it,” he softly told him. “I desire only your happiness. I hope you know that.” 

He let go of the prince’s hand sliding his over the other’s palm. Legolas glanced down, feeling the sensation of metal against his skin. 

A gold band lay on his palm. Its surface was slightly rippled; miniature clouds had been skillfully etched into the gold. Amidst the clouds were tiny crystals but for one: a cunningly cut star-shaped diamond that stood out, larger and brighter than the rest, recalling the manner in which Eärendil outshone all the other stars in the firmament. Legolas recognized the ring with shock.

This was an heirloom of the House of Elrond. Elladan had possessed its twin and had given it to Legolas’s sister, Nimeithel, when they wed. He looked up at Elrohir, confusion and agitation in his eyes.

“Elrohir, you must not give this to me,” he pleaded. “I – we never spoke of – of –”

“Binding to one another?” Elrohir finished for him. “Fear not, Calenlass, I do not give you this ring to force you into a choice or out of any expectations. I will not wrong you in that manner.”

“Then why—?”

“My heart is yours whether you want it or not,” Elrohir explained quietly. "'Tis but a symbol of my love for you, no more.” 

“But – but this was wrought as a nuptial ring,” Legolas protested. “It should be gifted upon your intended one, your binding-mate, not—” He broke off, belatedly realizing the import of his objection. “I am sorry, I did not mean—” 

He winced as Elrohir averted his face in an obvious attempt to conceal the hurt Legolas had so carelessly inflicted. Remorseful, he leaned forward and curled his arm around the warrior, pulling him closer.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, pressing his face into the warrior’s neck. “I am only so overcome by your gift. I – I am not worthy of it, Elrohir.”

He lifted his head when Elrohir turned back to face him, argent eyes becalmed once more. “You hold my heart, Calenlass,” he murmured. “Who could be more worthy?” His eyes flicked to the ring where it lay in the archer’s loosely clenched palm. “You need not wear it. I only ask that you keep it.” 

Legolas stared at the beauteous band and swallowed hard. It loomed in his hand, bright and pure and pregnant with meaning. Yet he could not put it away as Elrohir suggested. It begged to be worn; he did not understand why. Drawing a deep breath, he slipped it onto the index finger of his right hand. He glanced up at Elrohir, seeking his reaction.

The twin smiled but there was no elation in his eyes. Legolas realized then that Elrohir truly harbored no expectations. He was giving of himself, wholly and freely. He did not hope for, did not seek to take anything in return. With a murmured word of thanks, he kissed the prince gently, rose from the bed and left the chamber. 

In his wake he left a profoundly shaken Elf. As he dazedly went about bathing and dressing, Legolas could not help thinking repeatedly about what had passed between himself and Elrohir. He could not deny the great worth of what had been bestowed upon him, the giver immeasurably more precious than the gift. 

The Elf-knight was everything anyone could possibly desire in a spouse. He possessed true nobility, great strength of character, incomparable comeliness and age-old wisdom – there did not seem to be anything to dislike in Elrond’s younger son, not even his flaws; flaws which more oft than not stemmed from his deep-seated convictions. 

Mired in confusion over his nascent romantic feelings for Elrohir, Legolas found himself floundering in an arena where he knew next to nothing. All his years of avoidance of anything and everything even remotely connected with love had left him shamefully ignorant of its many shadings. All he recalled were the half-formed notions of his long ago adolescence, notions long since twisted into the fearful beliefs he’d slowly acquired in his later years. 

Unbidden, he felt the first breach in the walls of his shielded heart. It was nothing like the mild stirrings he’d known when his regard for Aragorn had deepened. This overwhelmed him, threatened to take him and keep him. To own him. 

He visibly trembled as unfamiliar emotions raged through him. With the creeping stealth of a seasoned hunter, the ancient drive to mate awakened in him, taking him completely unawares. He’d thought himself one of the select Edhil who were immune to the binding-call, his long resistance to any emotional entanglement convincing him of the validity of his belief. But now it sang its siren song and he heard it; offered its balming embrace and tempted him to yield. It resounded throughout the whole of his being.

He recoiled from it. 

Like the magma of a long dormant volcano suddenly bursting forth, his old fear flared and erupted from its wellspring in the deeps of his consciousness. The resulting panic was as a virulent, blanketing cloud that cast a shadow on the beauty and light of the Elf-knight’s devotion. 

Habit, however ill-founded, had long ago overtaken logic and now vociferously reasserted itself, roused by this heady incursion into the previously well-defended bounds of its territory surrounding the archer’s barely touched, unknowing heart. It cried out to beware of love and its fearsome consequences. The loss of freedom. The certitude of turmoil. The inevitability of pain. 

For this was an irrational dread that ignored the impossibility of his ever knowing heartbreak at Elrohir’s hands. It had grown not out of painful experience but rather of the absence of it. Imagination had supplied what he lacked in actual knowledge of the caprices of the heart’s yearnings and thus rendered them far more daunting than reality could ever manage. 

For the first time, his long friendship with Elrohir became as much a burden as it was a blessing. For the first time, he rued the closeness they had always shared, seeing it as the battering ram that would break down the gates of his resistance. It was one thing for his body to know rapture in a lover’s arms, another thing to yield his spirit to another and open himself to uncertainty and pain. 

He rebelled at the very idea. He would not be fettered by anything, would not be chained to anyone. He would not be hemmed in. His promise in the glade in Ithilien all but forgotten, he struggled to rebuild the rampart around his heart. 

_To be continued…_


	10. IX. Cracks

“He is a remarkable archer. He aims true without fail.”

“And aims high. He spends much time with the Lord Elrohir. More than what is seemly, I dare say.”

Legolas stiffened slightly as his sharp ears picked up the muted conversation behind him. He glanced back and recognized Lord Gethron, a baron who sought influence in Gondor’s court. It was he who had uttered the latter statement, which insinuated more than was comfortable for the Elf-prince.

It was but a few hours after his parting from Elrohir and he was still in turmoil after his long morning’s musings. So troubled had he been that he’d sent word to the royal couple that he would not join them for the morning meal then hastened away before Elrohir should come in search of him. He’d then attempted to calm himself by means of a soothing walk around the Citadel.

His meandering route had taken him to the near deserted battlement where he had passed the other two without marking their identities. Now, as he looked out at the Pelennor, he realized they had halted in their progress and were studying him speculatively.

“I hear they are friends of long standing,” the baron’s companion said.

“And I wager they are _more_ than friends,” Gethron said suggestively.

“What do you mean?”

“I have heard tales of Elves and some of their strange practices. Who knows what unholy deeds this Elf-prince indulges in?”

Legolas felt a chill sneak up his spine. Gethron had struck too close to the bone. He had to put a stop to such dangerous talk immediately. He turned to face the startled men.

“I thought the men of Gondor courteous enough not to speak behind another’s back,” he said evenly.

The two stared at him wordlessly for a moment, shocked that he had heard their near whispered exchange. But Gethron recovered the sooner and wasted no time answering the prince’s charge.

“We are only concerned for the welfare of our king and kingdom,” he retorted. 

“And so see fit to slander me?” Legolas remarked.

“And is it slander?” Gethron dared to sneer. “You are ever at the Lord Elrohir’s side – even unto the late hours of the night ‘tis said. Who knows what _counsel_ you offer our king’s brother?”

Before Legolas could speak, another voice made itself heard.

“You insult my closest friend and one of the king’s most trusted comrades.”

The noblemen whirled in surprise to face Elrohir. He had come up behind them soundlessly and heard Gethron’s allegations.

“My lord! I—”

“You accuse Prince Legolas of indulging in unholy deeds. Tell me, since I keep such late hours in his company, are you suggesting that _I_ , too, practice those same deeds?”

Gethron blanched. There was no mistaking the steel in Elrohir’s voice. It was perilous to cross Elessar’s foster-brother. The Elf-lord had no compunctions about putting one in one’s place. Oft times in a most painful manner.

“Nay, I – it was uncalled for,” the baron hastened to say. “I beg your pardon, my lords.”

Elrohir simply skewered him with an icy glare, which sent him and his companion hurrying off. The warrior kept his eyes on them until they disappeared from sight.

“Gethron grows bolder each year,” he remarked acidly. “He is ambitious, that one. Estel had best beware of him for I doubt he is one to trust overmuch.”

When Legolas did not reply, he glanced at him curiously. He was taken aback by the flicker of anger in the archer’s eyes.

“You show your regard for me far too openly,” Legolas reproved. “You should not have interfered.”

Elrohir glanced at him in astonishment. “You would have had me stand by silently while he insulted you?” he asked in disbelief.

“I can defend myself.”

“But I am your friend. I could hardly let such an offense pass unnoticed.”

“You will give Gondor a reason to talk about us – about me,” Legolas tersely said.

“Legolas, all Gondor knows about our close friendship,” Elrohir pointed out.

“But not all Gondor approves,” the prince replied impatiently. “I told you, Elrohir, I will not have my honor questioned. Your demeanor will only draw suspicion upon me.”

“This is absurd,” Elrohir protested. “I have done nothing but act as a friend. And as your host during your stay here, ‘tis my duty to see to your welfare at all times.”

“That may seem reasonable to you but to those who seek to discredit me, even that can and will be subject to scrutiny. I said it before, I will say it again; you have to be discreet!”

Elrohir opened his mouth to argue then thought better of it. It would lead them nowhere since the prince was patently determined to stand by his point. The warrior decided to give way for the sake of peace between them.

He took a deep breath. “If I indeed erred in this matter, I am sorry,” he said diplomatically. “It shall not happen again.”

“See that it does not,” Legolas said curtly before striding away with nary a word of farewell. Elrohir stared after him in hurt surprise. 

It did not end there. It was but the beginning – of what, he could not tell save that it would most likely bring him grief. 

A pattern began to develop wherein Legolas would find fault in him, even in the most inconsequential of matters. Many a time would such an episode be followed by an apology and warmer than usual amends but that did not mitigate by much the sting of the preceding chastisements. Or their increasing frequency and bewildering pettiness. 

Granted that there was good in chiding him for his sometimes too sharp tongue or remarking on the way he treated those he considered unworthy of his notice. But when even the way he dressed or braided his hair was called into question he began to bristle. It was insupportable to now be criticized for something that had never been an issue between them before. And always, always, reminding and reprimanding him to keep a decent distance between them when they were in public. 

'You would think we have not known each other for millennia the way he wants me to comport myself in his presence,' Elrohir sourly observed. 

His misgivings multiplied. And an indefinable ache began to gnaw at his heart.

oOoOoOo

On the day of the Harad delegation’s imminent arrival, the men of the royal family went on a morning’s hunt in the small forest south of Minas Tirith. Elessar had no intention of losing the feral edge of his days as a Ranger of the North and would take to the chase here and then, eschewing even the presence of the hunters in his service.

Besides, the Haradrim were late by nearly a week. September was nigh upon them. Let these tardy Southrons bide their time should they arrive while the king was still out. They’d certainly kept everyone else waiting for them! With that parting shot, he rode off taking Eldarion with him as well as Elrohir and Legolas and only a few trusted men-at-arms. 

The hunt proved rewarding and by the time they were done, there was a sizable cache of game to be transported back to the City. It was while they were preparing to return that they were waylaid in a most charming manner.

They were met at the very outskirts of the forest by a beaming Arwen, Aragorn’s two young daughters and an impromptu feast of the Queen’s devising. She’d had the royal kitchen prepare a most welcome midmorning repast of bread, cheese, fresh fruit and cool mead. After warmly greeting his thoughtful wife, Aragorn had the men-at-arms move off that his family may have some privacy. The king then readily and very happily settled down in the shade of the trees with little Romenna on his lap. The others followed suit and they all soon made short work of the food and drink.

Arwen smiled with pleasure as sighs of contentment rewarded her efforts. But she was not quite done with her surprises and she bade Eldarion to help bonny Eleniel unload the last basket from her steed. 

Cries of delight greeted the appearance of huge, glistening berries and freshly churned cream. Arwen grinned triumphantly for it was she who had espied the particularly luscious offerings during a surprise trip to the market that morning. 

Elrohir glanced at Legolas who had languidly reclined against a tree just behind him. The Elven prince looked longingly at the scarlet fruit but was reluctant to move from his comfortable position. 

With an understanding smile, the warrior dipped one berry in the cream and offered it to the archer, placing it within tongue’s reach of the other’s lips. Legolas hesitated at first but finally opened his mouth to accept the fruit. In this manner did the Elf-knight feed him several pieces. 

But as he did so, he noticed the prince’s growing discomfort. He wondered about it. Mayhap Legolas was embarrassed to be fed like an Elfling before an openly amused Eldarion. Not to mention a humorously indulgent King and Queen of Gondor.

He had all but forgotten the incident when the family finally returned to the City. Accompanying Legolas to the latter’s chamber, Elrohir noted his continued distraction. He watched as the archer perched himself on the sill of his window, leaning his golden head back against the frame. He looked pensive and thoughtful.

“What is wrong, Calenlass?” he asked curiously.

“Nothing,” Legolas said. “Except...”

“Except?” the warrior prompted.

The archer sighed. “I would ask you to desist from feeding me that way in front of others,” he murmured.

Elrohir stared at him. “What way?” he inquired, puzzled. “I have oft fed you in that manner in all our years of acquaintance as you have done me. And even Elladan has done the same for you.”

Legolas lifted uneasy eyes to him. “But Elladan is not known to be my lover,” he softly said. “I would not inflict discomfort where it can be avoided.”

“Known to whom? Whose discomfort?” Elrohir let out a perplexed breath. “Legolas, you are not making sense. I do not—” He stopped of a sudden and gazed at the archer with dawning comprehension. "'Twas because Estel was watching that you felt uneasy with my attention,” he whispered, eyes widening in shock. 

Legolas shifted uncomfortably on the sill. His failure to disabuse Elrohir of his suspicion was a sharp blow to the darkling Elf. He shook his head in frustration. 

“The workings of your reasoning are mind-boggling,” he remarked dryly. “You were cool and collected when Estel caught me in your room with every evidence of our night’s coupling in plain sight. How is it that a simple act I have done for centuries should now discompose you?”

“I do not know why,” Legolas murmured. “It just did.” 

Elrohir narrowed his eyes. “I think I know,” he said, softly but sharply. “‘Twas embarrassing enough for him to have learned about us by accident. But to have him personally witness our intimacy is beyond your forbearance. You do not wish for him to see how capable you are of responding to my pleasuring be it in bed-play or otherwise. You would have him still regard you as the loyal companion of the Quest whose heart remained untouched by any but him. That was the true reason why you did not wish to let him know about us, not my duty to Gondor or Eldarion.”

The blue eyes met his, a mutinous glow in their depths. Elrohir knew he was treading dangerous grounds for Legolas’s pride was second to none. But he was so incensed by his discovery that he did not care about the consequences of pursuing the matter further.

“That first morning must have galled you though you certainly concealed it well,” he taunted. “Tell me, Legolas, who is it that you think of when we couple? Is it his name that you would cry out in ecstasy were it not for my presence?”

Legolas leaped to his feet, his eyes blazing furiously. “You will not speak to me in so base a manner!” he growled. “I am not yours, Elrohir, you have no right to question me.”

Elrohir glared back at him. “Of course not,” he snapped angrily. “For I am only a friend and an unacknowledged lover whose feelings obviously no longer mean anything to you.” 

He spun on his heel and moved to leave the chamber, heart beating wildly with barely suppressed ire and the beginnings of anguish and dread. But a strong hand caught him by the arm and he was compelled to turn around to face the archer.

Contrite eyes met his. Legolas bowed his head in shame. “I am sorry, I did not intend to demean you,” he murmured. 

Elrohir swallowed past the ache in his throat. “Do not apologize,” he said at length. “You were only reacting to what I said. ‘Tis I who should beg forgiveness.”

The archer lifted his head and gazed at the Elf-knight. He could not fail to discern how heavy of heart Elrohir was because of what had just occurred. 

“Nay, I drove you to it with my witless charge.” He drew in a deep breath. “You are right. I feel uneasy whenever you behave so – so familiarly with me in front of Aragorn. He knew nothing about us until now and, I must confess, I led him to believe that none had ever gained my affections as he did. I saw it as my gift to him, foolish as that may sound, since I knew his heart belonged to Arwen.” He winced as he saw the pain flicker across Elrohir’s countenance. 

“Then I will not do it again.”

The words were uttered with such defeat that guilt struck Legolas to the core. In one stroke, he had stripped the joy from what had been an act of affection for so many centuries. 

“I did not mean for you to stop,” he protested.

“Then what do you mean?” Elrohir asked in frustration. He shook his head. “I no longer know what to do or say that you will not condemn as wrong,” he honestly said. “I expected that whatever I did in love would be put to the test. But it seems that even what I have always done as a friend is just as objectionable to you.” His proud shoulders slumped tiredly. “I had better go. I would not have you discomfited anew should Estel choose to visit you and find me here.”

There was no sarcasm or recrimination in his statement. It was painfully clear that he was trying to grant the archer’s professed wish. His desolate demeanor breached Legolas’s shields for a moment and the prince acted instinctively to assuage the hurt he had caused the other. He reached up and cupped the Elf-knight’s face in his hands.

“I am truly sorry, Aduial. Do not go. Please stay,” he whispered before pressing his lips against the other’s warm mouth. 

Elrohir hesitated, torn between his desire for the prince and the impulse to break away and flee his treacherous yearnings. He knew deep inside that this was but a respite from their increasingly fractious relationship. But he also admitted that he did not have the strength to resist what Legolas offered so temptingly. Resignedly, he allowed himself to take what joy he could from the archer’s unbidden attentions. 

_To be continued…_


	11. X. Forebodings

The Harad delegation presented itself to the King bearing gifts and words of goodwill. The ambassador was a Man of great stature and dignity who drew the respect and approval of the many lords and counsellors who had gathered in the great hall. All that is except for the tall _Edhel_ who stood at Aragorn’s side and eyed the Southrons with unease. 

Elrohir did not quite understand his misgivings about the Swertings. They seemed peaceful enough, spoke the proper words and made the right gestures. But he could not dispel his distrust of them. He wondered if he was not being unreasonably prejudiced against them.

He took a quick glance about the hall. Aragorn was seated upon his throne with Eldarion to his right. Elrohir, as befitted his status as the King’s brother, stood to Aragorn’s left. At the sides were gathered several vassals and advisors of the King. 

The most telling absences were those of Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Faramir, Steward of Gondor. Both men were headed for Rhûn on a diplomatic mission at the express invitation of one of the Easterling nations. Interesting, Elrohir thought. Had the Haradrim arrived on time, both Imrahil and Faramir would not yet have departed for the east. He wondered if there had been any collusion between the Easterlings and Southrons to ensure that Elessar’s most trusted and staunchest supporters would not be present to sway those of less certitude in their opinions. 

He swiftly dismissed the idea. There was no love lost between these two lands at present. Not since Harad duped several eastern tribes into parting with precious oils and rare silks and paid them far less than was agreed upon. War had nearly erupted if a sudden drought had not struck the unfortunate Easterlings’ lands. Nay, the men of Rhûn would not care to cooperate with the Swertings. More likely someone in court had simply tipped off the Southrons to delay their arrival. Who knew what rewards had been promised if the resulting treaty was to Harad’s advantage? Treachery was not unknown even in these supposedly enlightened days. Not when ambition reared its ugly head. 

The Imladrin Elf glanced to his right. There, standing unobtrusively with his arms crossed, was the Lord of Eryn Gael. Legolas had done his utmost to avoid drawing attention to himself. He had silently slipped into the hall and taken his place behind the others before anyone realized he was present. Elrohir studied his friend’s expression.

Legolas’s mien mirrored his own. The prince was also distrustful of the Southrons. Elrohir paid closer attention to the Harad ambassador. It was not so much what he was saying but how he was behaving that intrigued the dark-haired Elf. He was simply too amenable to everything Aragorn and his counsellors were demanding. It did not sit right with the son of Elrond. 

Yet the men of Gondor seemed all too eager to treat with the Southrons. They wanted peace so badly they were quite ready to set aside the accumulated caution and distrust of centuries past. 

The following days of negotiation did nothing to dispel his misgivings. Matters were hurried along instead of discussed at length. He would not have been surprised had they begun at once to pressure Aragorn into making decisions soonest. He supposed it had much to do with the briefness of mortal life. 

An Elf could bide his time before making a decision for he had an eternity in which to do so. But Men in their short lifetimes did not have that luxury. What they desired they sought much more quickly than was sometimes wise or prudent. That was perilous to his thinking but he had no solid evidence to back up his apprehensions about the Haradrim’s terms. 

By the fourth day, he’d had his fill of their unseemly haste. As always he remained by Aragorn’s side while Legolas stayed on the sidelines, never saying a word but simply watching and listening. 

Elrohir felt a chill creep up his spine as the Harad diplomat oh so gently pressed Aragorn to accede to the treaty conditions. The king was not inclined to make a hasty choice but he was also cognizant of his nobles’ leanings. King he may be of Gondor but that did not mean he could run roughshod over his people’s wishes. The line of Isildur was too recently restored for Elessar to recklessly have his way. He would have to tread delicately, seek a balance between their wants and his own natural caution. In this he relied on his most trusted advisors for help. 

Not for the last time did Elrohir think it a pity that neither Imrahil nor Faramir were present. Once more he paid minute attention to what was being discussed, trying to read between the lines of the Southrons’ amiable spiels.

The ambassador was saying something about the benefits of trade between Gondor and Harad. “There is much we can offer your people, Majesty, as I am sure there is much you might want from us. It would be advantageous for both our realms to open our borders to each other. Imagine the opportunity for economic prosperity.”

The attending nobles and counsellors were nodding in agreement. It sounded logical of course. But Elrohir did not care for the logic of it. What he was watching out for was possible treachery behind the smooth persuasive words. Open their borders to each other?

He flicked his eyes to Legolas. The prince’s eyes were riveted on the ambassador, his expression a mask. Warning bells set off in Elrohir’s mind. So did Legolas look in public when he suspected something was seriously wrong. The more impassive his features, the more suspicious he was.

“Under the terms of this treaty, we would allow safe passage for our merchants and other tradesmen when they travel to our respective kingdoms,” the ambassador explained. “Eventually, our peoples may even choose to migrate from one realm to the other thus forging even closer ties between our nations. After all, there are those of _Edain_ blood in our realm, the heritage passed down from our rulers of old. It would be a chance to unite your race once more, would it not?”

Elrohir’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at Aragorn and caught his eye. The King raised a quizzical eyebrow at the Elf’s silent request, then nodded his acquiescence. Elrohir turned his eyes back to the delegation. He addressed the ambassador. 

“Excellency, I would ask of you one thing.” He maintained an even tone that revealed nothing of his thoughts. The Southron turned to him expectantly then started when he realized he was facing the king’s Elven foster-brother. Elrohir permitted himself a small smile. “You speak of safe passage for our peoples. But how are we to determine who are on legitimate business or not? Shall we ask that our tradesmen subject their wares to inspection at the borders?”

The ambassador smiled ingratiatingly at the Elf-lord. “But of course, my lord. We would have to set up ports of entrance for this purpose. Ours in Umbar for example and yours in Pelargir mayhap.”

Elrohir leveled a stare at the Man. Something was not quite right. 

“And once within our respective borders, I suppose they are to be allowed free movement anywhere?” he asked.

“Well, that is the purpose of trade, is it not?” the ambassador reasoned. Seeing the skepticism in the Elf-warrior’s eyes, he added, “Is my lord worried about espionage and other such dealings?”

“Should we not all be?” Elrohir asked with a smile that was as dry as a scorched dessert. 

One of the nobles frowned and interrupted the exchange. It was none other than the ambitious Gethron. “My Lord Elrohir, this is an attempt to establish peace between our kingdoms. How are we to accomplish this if we immediately suspect our guests of duplicity?” 

Elrohir flicked an icy look at the man. “I, too, seek peace for our lands,” he said. “But I would count the cost first before making the purchase.”

Aragorn placed a soothing hand on his foster brother’s arm. “Your concern is valid, _gwanur_ ,” he said diplomatically. “We will study the matter before making any firm commitments. But the terms seem fair enough and it would serve Gondor well to have trade relations with other kingdoms.”

“Besides, the Haradrim are not alike to us,” remarked a counsellor called Duindor. “Just as we have not been able to penetrate deep into their territory, so will they be conspicuous within ours. Any that should linger where they are not supposed to would be immediately noticed.”

Many others apparently agreed with this observation. It was true to a great extent. The Swertings were swarthier of skin and blacker of hair than the people of the Reunited Kingdom. They could never be mistaken for citizens of Gondor. The physical differences were too acute.

Elrohir scowled when he saw where the consensus was heading. He glanced at Legolas. The prince’s expression was positively frozen. 

He thought furiously. Something niggled at the back of his mind. The ambassador had mentioned something about the race of the Men of Gondor being united once more. And what was it Duindor had said about their differences? His grey eyes darkened dangerously. 

He knew now what questions to ask but he realized he was not the person to do it. He had expressed his distrust earlier on and anything he did would be subject to doubt if not outright disbelief. He swiftly but quietly voiced his suspicions to Aragorn. The king frowned in consternation.

“We must find a way to prove this,” he murmured. Elrohir nodded then looked at the archer again. 

Legolas felt his stare and met his eyes. Abruptly, Elrohir knew they were of like mind on the matter. And he also realized that the task of unraveling the Haradrim’s deceit would have to fall to the fair-haired archer. 

Gondor’s nobles might envy the Elven prince his proximity to Gondor’s royal family and crave it for themselves, but few questioned his loyalty to the kingdom. Furthermore, in keeping silent so far and remaining out of sight, he had managed to maintain outward neutrality and therefore his credibility. Most would believe him and that was all Elrohir needed. He placed a warning hand on Aragorn’s arm; merely waited for the king’s slight nod before acting. 

“Excellency,” he said abruptly, cutting through a discussion regarding the types of goods and services that they would allow to be exchanged. “Would you subject yourself to a test?” he asked pleasantly. He sensed the court’s curious glances on him but did not remove his eyes from the Southron ambassador. 

“A test?” the Man repeated, black eyebrows rising questioningly.

“Aye,” Elrohir replied. “It would be a gesture of goodwill on your part to our King.”

“What would you test me for, my lord?” the Man asked a little uncertainly. 

“Why, your veracity of course.” 

A concerted gasp followed his words. The Haradrim were obviously outraged while the men of Gondor turned disapproving stares on the Elvenlord. How could he treat a diplomatic delegation with such disrespect?

Elrohir was unperturbed. “Is it too great a price to pay for unlimited trust between our peoples?” he reasoned. “Come now, do you not wish to establish relations between these two great realms soonest?”

“Majesty, this is insupportable—” Gethron began to growl.

Aragorn held up a hand to forestall the baron. He nodded at the ambassador. “We await your answer,” he said.

The Swerting bristled. “I had thought the _Edain_ of Gondor men of honor and civility,” he said. “But though I am much offended by your methods, Lord Elf, I will accept your test for the sake of the success of these negotiations.” He straightened up proudly.

Elrohir’s answering smile did not reach his eyes. “I would ask Prince Legolas to assist us,” he said, flicking his gaze to the prince. 

Legolas inhaled sharply as all eyes turned to him. Uttering an elvish curse beneath his breath, he made his way to the dais. As Legolas took his place before the man, Elrohir stepped down from the dais to take a position slightly to his side behind him.

The Southron found himself confronted with two pairs of penetrating eyes, one dark azure, the other twilight grey. Elrohir said, “You need only answer his questions. Speak the truth and there will be no need for concern.”

The man wondered what the Elf meant. He had never dealt with the Firstborn before. All he had were the tales and superstitions about these strange beings that had been passed down through generations. Were they going to use magic on him? Did they use magic at all? He stared at the golden-haired Elf and found he could not tear his eyes away from the other’s unnerving stare.

“Do all Haradrim look as you do?” Legolas asked.

The ambassador was startled by the unexpected query. “Of course, we all look alike,” he could not help snapping.

“You lie,” Legolas said flatly. The ambassador gasped at the intensity of his blue gaze. He felt himself begin to sweat.

“I do not know what you mean,” he stuttered. It was difficult to maintain one’s composure in the face of that elvish stare. “We are of one race. If there are any differences amongst us, it is minimal at best.”

“I think not,” Legolas said. “You spoke of _Edain_ blood flowing in the veins of some of your people.”

“What of it?” the man scowled. “As you well know, in ancient times there was some mingling of blood between our peoples.” 

“Then you are _not_ of one race. There are those among you who would not pass as Haradrim but as Gondorrim.”

More gasps followed this assertion. The Southron glared at the Elven prince. “This is outrageous! How dare you treat me in this manner. I am a diplomatic representative of my—”

“Answer my question,” Legolas cut in with ominous gentleness. The threat behind his voice paralyzed the man.

“Well, I – I suppose—” he stammered. 

“And if they were to come as tradesmen and gain safe passage into this land, they would be able to mingle quite freely amongst its people with no one the wiser.”

“I-I – that is absurd!”

“Is it? Look me in the eye, Man of Harad, and tell me you do not lie.”

The Swerting swallowed hard as he was forced to stare into the eyes of the Elf. They were painfully piercing. Few there were who could withstand that awful knowing stare. The ambassador was not such a man. He began to wilt before the prince and his tongue suddenly turned thick in his mouth. Sweat poured down his face as if he were in the midst of a furnace. 

Legolas very quietly stated: “Thus would you sow the populations of the Reunited Kingdom with Men loyal to Harad and bide your time until they were well entrenched and swollen in numbers even should it take a generation or more. And when the time was ripe they would rise up against us and you would invade Gondor from without and within. Tell me I am wrong, Southron.” 

The man shuddered as the Elf’s stare seemed to bore into his very soul. He whimpered and then moaned. With a strangled gasp he tore his eyes away. But the damage was done. He had not been able to speak. His deceit had been laid bare for all to see.

Aragorn’s face was still but his eyes were bright with anger. “I believe there is nothing more to discuss,” he said in a glacial tone. “I will give you safe passage to our borders and you will tell your masters that Gondor does not treat with treacherous vermin.”

The proceedings broke up in an uproar with the very men who had earlier advised cooperation with the Haradrim now calling for their heads. The guards swiftly hustled away the Southron delegation before the more intemperate chose to express their anger through violent means.

Elrohir heaved a sigh of relief. He looked for Legolas and was surprised to see the prince already exiting the hall. After a hurried consultation with Aragorn he hurried after his friend. He espied him rapidly traversing the passageway leading to the royal pavilion. Elrohir raced after him wondering why Legolas had left the hall so precipitately.

“Legolas!”

The prince came to a halt in the middle of the corridor and waited for the other Elf to catch up with him. Elrohir was shocked at the expression on his face. Legolas was furious. It showed in his blazing eyes and tightened lips.

“You should not have asked me to question him!” he almost spat out. “Do you never listen to me, _Edhel_?” 

Elrohir stared. “We needed to know the truth,” he protested. “‘Twas the only way to find out.”

“You could have done it yourself. There was no need to use me.”

“Nay, I could not do it. The others already knew of my distrust of the Haradrim. They would have suspected me of manipulating the man. But you were above suspicion in that regard.” 

Legolas glared at him. “If you had not revealed your feelings so hastily there would have been no need for my services,” he snapped. “For a supposedly seasoned diplomat you committed the most serious blunder of all!”

Elrohir glared back at him. “Mayhap I made a mistake,” he conceded angrily. “But why should that matter now? We have what we wanted.”

“And you have undone what I have striven for in the last eight years! Aragorn’s nobles will now suspect me more than ever of currying favor with him and wielding influence beyond what is proper. And they will think me capable of unholy means of persuasion as well.” 

“They would say the same of me had I undertaken the task,” Elrohir growled. “What difference would it make whether they suspect one Elf or another?”

“You are his beloved kinsman,” Legolas pointed out. “You are expected to do everything in your power to aid him. You would not be suspected of trying to control the King for your own purposes. But I do not have that luxury and you have thus placed me in a most uncomfortable position!”

With that, he turned his back on the dark-haired Elf and strode off. Elrohir stared after him with impotent rage. He clenched his fists spasmodically before ramming one into the stone wall beside him with such force it crumbled the masonry and left a shallow crater in its wake.

He was still in a foul mood that evening as the family gathered for the evening meal. For once, he did not seek to stay by Legolas but chose the seat farthest from the Elven prince. It was not that he had taken his criticism hard. He did not doubt the truth of his friend’s harsh words nor was he of the nature to disregard them just because they were not to his liking. 

What had hurt him was the manner in which Legolas had confronted him. To be attacked so scathingly by one he loved dearly was too painful to swallow with any equanimity at all. Especially when it was suggested that he had been careless and callous at the same time. 

Had there been another present who could have forced the truth from the Southron, he would have used him instead. But there had been none and he had not been about to urge the King himself to take on the task. There were certain things in which Aragorn had to maintain strict neutrality.

But Legolas had not given him a chance to present his side. And having lashed out so brusquely at him had pointedly turned his back on him and left him to stew. And he purposely avoided Elrohir for the rest of the afternoon as well much to the latter’s frustration. He would not even give me a chance to apologize, much less explain myself and set things right, the Elf-warrior fumed to himself. So much for friendship!

For the better part of the meal, he devoted himself to entertaining Eldarion’s endless questions regarding what had happened earlier as well as enduring Arwen’s alarmed queries as to the state of his badly bruised knuckles. He did not trust himself to look at Legolas lest he lose either his temper or his pride. The first would occur if the other returned his look with enmity or contempt. The second if Elrohir found his desire to be with the prince greater than his anger. He decided he did not need the added aggravation of either response.

Nevertheless, his mood turned melancholic as the evening wore on. His instincts were proving all too correct. _How much longer before..._? 

By the time the meal ended, he only wanted to retire to his chamber and wrestle with his troubled thoughts in solitude. However, Arwen detained him as everyone else departed. But since his sister’s reason for delaying him was to inquire about the state of his heart, he could hardly cut her short, especially when she made it clear that she knew about his renewed relationship with the woodland prince. 

“You gave him your ring,” she smiled knowingly.

He sighed. “A mistake it seems.”

Her smile faded slightly. “A mistake? But he wears it.”

“Perforce.” When the Queen’s face registered perplexity, he explained, “I made it clear ‘twas not to pressure him into a choice, but I suppose it was too much to ask that he would not feel trapped by my gift.” He let out a weary breath.

Arwen peered at him wonderingly, all her sisterly concern coming to the fore. “Tell me what has happened, Elrohir,” she urged. “I wish to help you.”

Knowing she would not relent until he told her of his worries, he confessed to her his fears, starting with the encounter on the battlement and ending with their spat over his handling of the Harad incident. Something had changed between him and Legolas. 

Legolas was marking virtually every error he made. And there was a distance between them that had not been there previously. He had tried to bridge the gap but felt a barrier firmly in place. There had never been one before. 

“His heart is resisting me and every false step I make is being adjudged against me,” he painfully told her. 

“He would not do that to you, _muindor_ ”—brother—Arwen tried to soothe him. 

Her distress showed in her expressive eyes. She had thought her brother’s love returned; so sure had she been of this after observing Legolas since learning of the state of affairs between him and the younger twin. Had she misread the prince so completely? Since when had her perceptiveness been so blunted? 

Elrohir smiled sadly. “A trapped creature will strike out with whatever advantage it possesses in order to regain its freedom.”

Arwen was aghast. “Surely, Legolas would not hurt one as dear to him as you,” she protested. “And why should he guard his heart against you? You were ever his best friend. He trusts you with his very life.”

Elrohir shook his head. “A friend is different from a lover. A friend need not give all of himself but a lover must. A lover is far more vulnerable than any friend and therefore knows more pain. In truth, he swore before Elladan and me that he would never give his heart to anyone.”

Arwen was taken aback by this revelation. But her conviction regarding what she had discerned of the archer’s feelings refused to falter. “He yields to you,” she pointed out. “Surely that means that he cares.” 

“I am always _meldir_ or _gwador_ to him,” Elrohir said pensively. “Never _melethron_. Nor will he suffer me to address him as a lover would. The one time I did, he was so unwilling that I have desisted from doing so since.” At her disbelieving reaction, he added: “What the body feels is fleeting. But the heart remembers all too well. Legolas is willing to be pleasured for that can be set aside and forgotten at will. His heart he fears to venture lest the giving of it renders him weak and helpless.” He hesitated. “And even now his demeanor in bed has changed.”

“How has it changed?” Arwen queried in puzzlement.

“In Ithilien, he did not merely respond to me but took a more active role in our couplings. But here, now—” Elrohir let out a frustrated exhalation of breath. “He rarely allows me go to his room but insists on coming to mine.”

“But what is wrong with that,” Arwen asked in confusion, “if he continues to seek your bed?”

“Only to leave it at daybreak, oft times even before I awaken,” Elrohir said somberly. At Arwen’s start of dismay, he bit his lip and said,” And lately he just – lies there as if he were merely doing me a favor—” 

He stopped then, averting his eyes from his sister, his pale cheeks staining. He never spoke so bluntly about such matters save with Elladan and, until recently, Legolas. But Arwen radiated so much love and concern that she broke down his walls of reserve. And having started, he found he no longer had the will or pride to desist. Too long had he kept his hurt to himself.

“I do not know what do,” he murmured. “I am losing him if I have not already done so.”

“Nay, that will not happen,” she objected. “Legolas cannot be such a fool as to let you slip through his fingers.”

The twin gave a harsh laugh that startled his sister. “That is exactly what _he_ said!” he exclaimed. “And I trusted his sincerity, believed his words to be true. Now I do not know what to trust or believe save for my instincts.” He quivered visibly. “He is just waiting for me to break,” he whispered. 

“What do you mean?” she asked in alarm.

“I am not blind as to why he is so tender at times and unbearably harsh at others. He fears to hurt me yet cannot stop himself from doing what he must to drive me away. He is pushing my tolerance to its limits in the hope that I will finally lose my patience and thereby free him. He would have me be the one to end it that he need not be burdened by the guilt of my grief.”

“How could he be so cruel,” Arwen whispered.

“Nay, not cruel. Never that,” Elrohir demurred. “I would not have anyone think him capable of evil or malice. He is only afraid. I chose to pursue this course,” he softly pointed out. “I will bear the consequences of my decision. If I have one regret, ‘tis that in declaring myself to him I have also ended our friendship. It will not survive should we part ways now for he will wish to forget what passed between us. Sooner or late, I will be nothing to him beyond a memory of what once was.”

He spoke the last words with such sadness that it wrenched his sister’s heart. 

“He loves you,” Arwen stubbornly insisted, refusing to believe that her reading of the woodland prince had been so false. “I can see it in his eyes, hear it when he speaks of you. ‘Tis only because he cannot admit it to himself that he withholds himself from you. But you can make him see the truth in his heart, Elrohir.”

"'Tis not so simple as that,” he said. “If it were only a matter of persuading him to give me a chance, it would not be so daunting. But he also resists me because he cannot let go of his love for someone else.”

Arwen blinked in disbelief. “He loves another? Who?”

Elrohir shook his head. “I cannot tell you. All I can reveal is that this love is not free, which is why Legolas deigned to turn to me at all. I want to believe that ‘tis but an infatuation on his part, born of great respect and admiration. But whatever the truth of his feelings for this one other, it looms like a shadow over our relationship and I am powerless to dispel it. I cannot fight a war on two fronts, Arwen,” he finished hopelessly.

The Queen stubbornly persisted. “I cannot conceive of him clinging to an unattainable love when he had vowed to close his heart to any love at all,” she reasoned. “Do not give up, Elrohir. Legolas will eventually see the error of his ways and then you will find your just reward and your joy. Surely that is worth fighting for.” 

He did not try to counter her but only added: “Arwen, say nothing of this to Estel or Eldarion. I would not have them turn against him on my account.” 

She stared at him, awed that he would protect the very one who was breaking his heart. On that note, they parted for the night. 

He proceeded to his room, his shoulders drooping as his spirits sank ever deeper. He was so deep in thought that he failed to notice that someone awaited him in his chamber until that someone spoke up.

“You are still upset.”

Elrohir visibly started. He let his breath out as he focused on the fair-haired archer. “What are you doing here?” he asked a little crossly.

Legolas raised a golden eyebrow at the less than friendly tone of the twin. “I thought I was always welcome here,” he replied quietly.

Elrohir stared at him. Then he bit his lip and said, “You are. But I did not think you would want my company tonight. You made it quite clear what you thought of me.”

Legolas shook his head. “I was angry. I did not mean to be so harsh with you.” He hesitated then took hold of the twin’s injured fist. “How did you come to hurt your hand?” he asked softly, rubbing his thumb gently over the purpled skin before brushing his lips against the bruise.

Elrohir tamped down on the involuntary shiver the caress sent coursing through his limbs. “I punched a wall,” he muttered. He pulled his hand away, not trusting himself to remain collected enough to have his say. “I do not blame you for being angry nor do I take exception to your harshness,” he said. “I have done worse to you in the past and always received your pardon after. It is your lack of trust and confidence in me that wounds me. It pains me that you would believe me insensitive to your wishes.”

He moved past the prince to look out his window. It was more soothing to look out at the darkness than gaze at the one who had such a vise-like hold on his emotions. 

“I never intended to ask any service of you. I only wanted to protect Estel and Gondor. If in doing so I have jeopardized your position in any way, then you have every right to castigate me and I hope you will forgive me.” He glanced back at Legolas, his eyes somber. “Not that it will matter. You have already deemed me incompetent and unworthy of your regard.”

The last sentences were uttered so tonelessly that it emphasized his discouragement even more distinctly. He turned back to stare at the dark outside. Moments later, he felt the other’s arms curl around him from behind, shivered as his warm breath brushed his nape. 

Legolas murmured: “That is not true, Aduial.”

“Is it not?” Elrohir whispered. 

“For you to doubt me proves how deeply I hurt you,” the prince said regretfully. “I am sorry. I was not completely in the right in this matter either. There are gentler ways of getting a point across and, in letting my anger rule me, I failed you as well. Please, I would not have this come between us.”

He coaxed the twin into facing him and drew him into a heartfelt embrace. Elrohir hugged him back, savoring their renewed closeness. But something marred his enjoyment of it and he could not completely dispel his earlier forebodings. 

He sighed to himself. Ordinarily, the prince’s words and actions should have smoothed away all his doubts and fears. But tonight, the weight remained in his heart. For the first time, he accepted the possibility that this was a battle he might not win. He knew the price of losing could be his very life. But he also knew that he could not stop himself from loving his Greenleaf no matter the cost. 

*********************************  
Glossary:  
Edhel (pl. Edhil) – Elf  
gwanur – ‘brother’ or ‘sister’ but a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman  
meldir – friend  
gwador – sworn brother  
melethron – male lover

_To be continued…_


	12. XI. Guarded Heart

_Ivanneth_ F.A. 21  
If Elrohir had thought his burden heavy enough, he was disabused of this assumption two mornings later. Hardly had he stepped out of his chamber when the King accosted him. Aragorn insisted they break their fast together but, to the Elf’s surprise, they were the only ones to enter the cozy dining alcove. Evidently, his foster-brother wanted to have a word with him in private.

Aragorn only waited for their meal to be served and the servants to depart before he broached his concerns.

“Legolas has begged leave of me to return to Ithilien,” he began.

Elrohir nodded. “He is not comfortable with the way your vassals behave towards him. I wish you would school them to be more civil, Estel. ‘Tis not right that they should suspect him of malice or ambition.”

“I am aware of their actions,” Aragorn said. “But ‘tis no simple matter to change people’s minds. Legolas will have to bide his time until they learn their lesson.” He looked pointedly at the twin. “But he is not my concern this morning, Elrohir. I would remind you of your pledge to Eldarion and me.”

Elrohir stared at him. “And I have kept my pledge,” he replied. “Why should you bring this up now?”

Aragorn frowned. “Is it true that you plan to return to Ithilien with him?”

Elegant eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I had thought of it,” he answered. “Why should it concern you?”

“This last time you stayed away more than a month,” Aragorn said. “How long will you dwell there this time?”

“I have not decided,” Elrohir admitted. “Mayhap through the winter months. I do not know yet.”

“Then what becomes of your pledge?” the King pressed him. “I see you are eager to leave. To quit this court and seek solitude with your chosen one.”

Elrohir’s eyes narrowed at his foster-brother’s choice of words. “I cannot deny what you saw with your own eyes, “ he said. “But I have shared many a bed in all my years. Why should you mark this affair as different?”

“Arwen told me of what passed between you long before I was born,” Aragorn wryly replied, “And I have seen for myself these many days how besotted you are with him.”

“And if I am?” Elrohir countered. “What have my feelings to do with my pledge to you?”

“Everything if it means you will forsake your duties and obligations to me and my son,” Aragorn said. “You are already spending far less time with Eldarion than was your wont. You have just returned and already you think of leaving.”

“Estel, I have been at your side and Eldarion’s for the past two decades,” Elrohir pointed out. “I have spent more years in Gondor than with my own brother in Imladris, which is a marvel in itself as we were never apart for so long before you became King. Do you now begrudge me some time for myself?”

Aragorn fell silent. Elrohir sighed. “Elessar, my pledge to you is true. I would never turn my back on Gondor. But I have also been lonely far too long. You know of what I speak for you knew what it meant to be bereft of love ere you won your Undómiel.”

Aragorn looked at his foster-brother a little guiltily. “You are right,” he admitted. “I demand too much of you. But if I do, ‘tis because you are a pillar of strength to me, _gwanur nîn_. And Eldarion adores you and is always distressed by your prolonged absences.”

Elrohir exhaled resignedly. “I will curtail my sojourn in Ithilien if that will reassure you,” he said.

Aragorn did not respond at once. “I would rather you did not go,” he said quietly at length. “I would not have talk arise about your closeness to Legolas.”

Elrohir let out a gust of humorless mirth. “That is what you truly wanted to say,” he remarked. “You could have been more direct, Estel, instead of taking so many twists and turns to get to the point.” He frowned. “Legolas has spoken to you, hasn’t he.” He did not frame the sentence as a question but as a statement.

Aragorn nodded. “He is concerned about such talk getting out of hand. I understand you had an unpleasant encounter with Lord Gethron precisely because of this issue.”

“Gethron will malign anything if he thought it hindered his ambitions,” Elrohir snorted. “The encounter came about because he accused Legolas of seeking to corrupt me, not because he knew the nature of our relationship. I swore I would be discreet. I think I have not broken my word yet.”

“Not wittingly, no,” Aragorn said. “But you have always been expressive, Elrohir. I have presumed that Legolas’s people know about you and him and that other than them and our family, no one else does. At least, for now. But should any look closer... Well, any person with his wits about him would see how deeply you care for him.”

“What would that matter?” Elrohir suddenly spat out. “If they had their wits about them, it would also be clear to them that they have nothing to fear. They would see that he does not return it!”

Aragorn’s eyes widened in shock. “I did not know,” he gasped. “I assumed—”

“Because he agrees to lie with me?” Elrohir laughed bitterly. “Guarded heart, soul of steel, he chooses like a miser whom he would gift with his regard.” When Aragorn looked at him in bewilderment, he added venomously, “You know of what I speak, fortunate enough as you were to gain a little of what meager affection he is willing to dole out.”

Aragorn flinched at the sudden attack. "'Twas but affection born of the perils we faced, Elrohir,” he protested. “Nothing more happened between us.” 

“Nothing but what mattered most,” Elrohir retorted sharply, rising from his seat.

Aragorn swiftly clasped his Elf-brother’s hand placatingly. “ _Gwanur_ , do not turn against me! What I feel for Legolas is naught but deep friendship. I seek nothing more of him. The Quest is long past and Arwen is all I desire and always will be.” 

The king held tight to his kinsman’s wrist and gazed at him pleadingly. At length, Elrohir heaved a shuddering sigh then took his seat once more. 

“Forgive me, Estel,” he said more quietly. “I am overwrought and have foisted my anger on you. I know you mean well and that you are only concerned about everyone’s welfare.” 

“I am sorry, too,” Aragorn murmured. “Had I known I would be rubbing salt into wounds I would not have spoken.” Wishing to soothe the Elf, he discarded whatever kingly demeanor he bore and spoke to him as the younger brother of their days in Imladris. 

“ _Tôr iuar_ , I know Legolas’s regard for me rose during the War and I cannot deny that I was pleased for I had always admired him and to have his esteem was no small thing to me. Nor can I pretend that I do not find him beautiful. Who does not? But I never encouraged him, never desired more from him than the love between war-brothers. Indeed, I was dismayed when he implied he felt otherwise for my heart has ever belonged to Arwen from the day I first saw her.” 

He frowned in frustration when his foster-brother’s spirits did not lift. He tried another tack. “This love he professes for me does not strike me as true,” he mused skeptically. “For one who claims heartache from its loss, he has recovered quite remarkably in your more than capable hands.” 

He felt some relief when faint color stained the twin’s cheeks. “Does it matter?” Elrohir finally responded. “Whether or not ‘tis love he feels for you, it does not change the fact that he does not care to return mine.” 

“He will yet, I am certain of it. You should not give up hope, Elrohir. If ever there was one who could truly win his heart, that would be you.”

Elrohir could only manage a forlorn smile at his human brother’s attempts to comfort him. “I know not if I have the strength,” he sighed. “But better to die in the trying than to never try at all.” 

Aragorn snorted. “I cannot conceive of anyone resisting your charms,” he said. “Indeed, had I been an Elf, who knows were my childhood attachment to you might have led? I thought you the most splendid creature and counted myself fortunate that you were so fond of me. My fascination with you so worried _Ada_ Elrond that Elladan decided to do something about it.” He grinned mischievously at Elrohir’s obvious surprise. “He never told you? ‘Twas the reason he took me whoring in the Bree-land long before my majority!”

That elicited a gasped chuckle from Elrohir. “You shock me, Estel!”

“You? Shocked?” Aragorn laughed, pleased at having distracted Elrohir from his troubles. “I would think nothing could shock you any longer!” He popped a grape into his mouth.

“Nothing but my little brother hinting he felt more than fraternal love for me!”

Aragorn nearly gagged on the grape. “I said had I been an Elf!” he retorted indignantly. 

The Elf-knight’s grey eyes sparkled wickedly. “Be grateful then that you are not,” he drawled. “Else I might have taken it upon myself to educate you in such matters. You were ever a comely child and one I would have gladly taken to my bed had you but asked.” 

He grinned, good humor restored, when the King turned red and started to choke and splutter at his outrageous words before realizing his foster-brother had neatly trapped him in a tease. 

“Really, you should not blush, Estel _nîn_ , it does not become you!”

oOoOoOo

While Elrohir’s breakfast discussion with Aragorn drew to an amiable close, the object of the Elf-knight’s affections wandered around the small, enclosed garden behind the residential pavilion. He did not enjoy the confined spaces of Minas Tirith and often came to this sanctuary to seek respite from the never-ending stone walls and paths of the Guarded City. Yet even here one did not feel completely in unity with nature. There was nothing like an open forest or sprawling garden to refresh the elven spirit.

After a long while, he sank down upon a bench and let his thoughts roam. He ruminated over what had passed between him and Elrohir two days ago. The darkling Elf had uttered words that Legolas could not ignore. I do not mean to judge him and yet it springs up unbidden, Legolas mused. 

He had tried to console his lover the other night; tried to erase the fear he saw in the other’s eyes. In that he had failed. The ardor had been there but it was restrained. It was as if Elrohir was already preparing himself for rejection and grief. 

Legolas quailed inwardly at the idea. ‘I yielded years ago to spare him this; yet now it seems it will come to pass whether we will it or not,’ he thought. Yet try as he might, the archer could not rid himself of his fearful, almost habitual evasion of emotional entanglement and commitment. 

“A _mithril_ -coat for your thoughts, _mellonen_.”—my friend.

Legolas started then laughed ruefully as Arwen came around from behind him and sat down on the other side of the bench. “You are as stealthy as a Ranger, _gwathel_ ,” he smiled.

She giggled and shook her head. “Nay, you were only too sunk in your thoughts,” she said. “Dark thoughts, it would seem, from the look on your face.”

“I am only concerned with duties I have left untended in Ithilien while I tarry here.”

“And I am but an ignorant Shire maiden,” she twinkled. “Really, do you think you can hide your worries from me? I do not think you have enough energy to try.” 

Legolas wryly grinned. Useless to try and pretend with Arwen. She would badger him until he told the truth. Better to get it over with now.

“Is it about Elrohir?” Arwen asked to help him get started.

“Aye,” the prince admitted. “I do not know what to do about our – situation.”

Arwen looked at him then softly said, “Because you believe you cannot return his love, Legolas?” The archer stared at her in surprise. Arwen shook her head sadly. “He has told me so and when I look for evidence for his fear, ’tis not hard to discern why,” she murmured. “I feel his sorrow and see your resistance.”

“My resistance?”

“Aye, _gwador_ , you are so fearful of stumbling into the abyss of true love that you shield your heart so fervently. Whenever he feels its coldness I see how he flinches inside. I imagine that even in the throes of passion he knows no true warmth.”

Legolas drew his breath in sharply. “I – I am sorry. I never meant to hurt him.”

“I know you do not and so does he,” she gently replied. “Why else do you think does he hold steadfast though he breaks inside?” 

Legolas suddenly felt a wave of frustration wash over him. “He is not a fragile piece of glass that you should handle so delicately,” he said. “I would that he were of sterner stuff instead of holding me hostage to his need.”

Arwen’s eyes widened. A sudden glint of anger shone in their depths. “You call my brother weak?” she demanded. “A warrior of valor and great loyalty who has served those he loves so well! I did not think you capable of such scorn, Legolas!” 

“I was not referring to his strength in battle but his strength within,” Legolas replied. “He should not be so tender of heart that he cannot endure its breaking.”

Arwen stared at him with a frown. “Is there any who can withstand a broken heart?” she pointed out. “Name one whom you deem so strong.”

Legolas hesitated. “Well, Aragorn for one.” He hastened to explain at Arwen’s surprised reaction. “I never saw him falter during the Quest, even when we were at the edge of despair. His heart is stronger than that of any Elf I have known.”

“You compare Elrohir to my lord?” Arwen said. “You would forget all your millennia of shared pain and sorrow and declare that, in a few months, Estel had overtaken my brother in your esteem? That is so strange, _gwador_ , considering that Elrohir was ever at your side, bearing the brunt of your furies and griefs down through the years.”

Legolas flushed. He suddenly recalled Elrohir’s words to him. 

_It feels as if in the months you spent together on the Quest, you forged a friendship with Estel that has replaced and even surpassed that which we have shared in over three thousand years._

“I spoke rashly, forgive me,” he murmured. 

“But you believe it nonetheless,” she said in a hushed voice. “My poor brother. He was right in his forebodings. In your need to regain your freedom, you will strike even at his very honor.” 

Legolas looked up, startled, and saw there were unshed tears in her eyes. “You speak of strength but you do not understand it,” she continued, her voice shaking slightly in her perturbation. “If his heart were weak, think you he would still be here to endure your unyielding one? He has lived with this for uncounted years and remained whole and steadfast. He has not faded as others would. If that does not speak of strength and courage, I do not know what does.” 

Legolas was stricken. In his haste to justify his ambivalence, he had forgotten, nay, brushed aside Elrohir’s virtues and strengths. He saw that Arwen trembled with anger at him and sadness for her brother. He clasped her hand in his beseechingly. 

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “Mayhap I should break with him rather than feed him false hopes,” he added hesitantly.

Arwen stared at him, aghast that he was actually considering the option. “I do not know what is right for him or you,” she finally said tightly. “But whatever you do, _ernil_ , please be gentle. Elrohir deserves at least that much from you.”

She abruptly disengaged her hand from his grip, rose and glided gracefully away. Legolas remained where he was, his heart heavy and his thoughts even more turbulent than ever. Small wonder that he did not sense the presence of another, hidden behind a nearby trellis of lush blossoms and thick foliage. 

The intruder silently slipped away.

*************************************  
Glossary:  
Ivanneth - Sindarin for September  
gwanur nîn – ‘my brother’ but a more accurate translation would be ‘my kinsman’  
tôr iuar – older brother  
Estel nîn - my Estel  
gwathel – sworn sister  
gwador – sworn brother

_To be continued…_


	13. XII. Confrontations

The great hall of the White Tower rang with serious talk and muted laughter. Originally intended as a banquet honoring the Harad delegation, this subdued dinner was now held in thanksgiving that Gondor had not fallen victim to the Southrons’ machinations. 

Legolas mingled quietly with the other guests, aware that the present warmth and kind demeanors of several were neither deep nor lasting. For now, they were grateful to him for his part in uncovering the Haradrim’s dark scheme. But time would temper this and they would eventually remember their envy and wariness of the Elf-prince. 

And there were still those who did not treat him with much friendliness but were even more fearful and suspicious of him. The men of Gondor could be as superstitious as the Swertings and Legolas’s almost otherworldly means of interrogation with the Harad ambassador had served to confirm these long-standing beliefs about the Firstborn. Thus, there was quite a number who regarded him with caution and even veiled hostility. 

But none openly showed disrespect or animosity. None dared while Elessar’s Elf-brother remained at his side.

Legolas considered Elrohir’s actions with equal parts gratitude and exasperation. He was all too aware that the younger twin stood between him and possible unpleasantness. Yet he also could not help feeling anxious that such obvious evidence of Elrohir’s high regard for him would only deepen the prevailing belief that he was too much the warrior’s confidante. 

He was also discomfited by the Elf-knight’s behavior. Elrohir was reticent with him almost to the point of silence. He saw to his needs with typical thoughtfulness, responded to his questions or comments and acted as his shield against any guest spoiling for a fight. And considering the amount of wine and ale being consumed, there were many rendered intemperate enough to dare start one.

But he was overly restrained this evening. It was unlike him to be so quiet and unforthcoming. Legolas wondered at the twin’s strange mood. Eventually, however, he began to chafe at Elrohir’s constant vigilance. It was not as if he was a helpless child unable to fend for himself in less than friendly territory. Therefore, it was with relief that he saw Aragorn beckon to his brother to join him and Arwen for a spell. 

Elrohir glanced at him with concern before left. “I will be quick,” he murmured.

“There is no need,” Legolas assured him. “Go. Do not keep them waiting.”

He waited for the twin to disappear into the throng before slipping out of the hall. Truth be told, the closeness and warmth within had been getting on his nerves and he felt a breath of fresh air would revive his rather tense spirits. And so he left the White Tower, slipped past the guards at the gate of the Citadel and walked down the dark, empty street beyond until he reached the sixth level of the city.

He walked aimlessly for a while until he came to a cul-de-sac surrounded by empty buildings. Though more than twenty years had passed since Aragorn’s ascension to the throne of Gondor, there were still patches of deserted structures in Minas Tirith, evidence of the population’s steep decline during the War. Many citizens had abandoned the Guarded City for the relative safety of lesser-known abodes and they were slow in returning to their former homes.

Misliking the melancholy of the place, he turned to retrace his steps. And came face to face with a group of men. Men who had had more drink than was good for them but were not intoxicated enough to take for granted. Men who eyed him with active dislike.

With a twinge of apprehension he recognized Lord Gethron as well as the king’s counsellor, Duindor. All the other faces were familiar, too. They belonged to a faction of vassals who sought greater power in court and incidentally envied and therefore hated Legolas for his intimacy with the royal family.

He swiftly surveyed their forms and frowned when he caught glimpses of battle-worn swords and knives concealed beneath their robes and mantles. Tradition and protocol demanded that only ceremonial weapons were worn at royal functions. Legolas himself bore only a simple jeweled dagger on his person. That these men had not only followed him out here but also risked flouting the rules meant they had come to the banquet with the intent of doing him harm. No doubt they would have devised some way to get him alone but he had made it even easier for them by leaving the great hall without telling anyone.

He did not visibly tense as they smilingly surrounded him. But within he was as wound up as a tightly coiled spring.

“Why, my lord prince, do you so disdain the company of men that you would leave the banquet so precipitately?” Gethron said with a smirk.

“‘Twas not to avoid anyone’s company that I left,” Legolas replied calmly. “I only desired a breath of fresh air.”

Duindor snorted disbelievingly. “Do not toy with us, Elf,” he growled. “We have seen how you look down upon us mere mortals.”

“I do _not_ look down on your race,” Legolas said pointedly. “If I did, I would not have troubled to befriend your king.”

“But ‘tis not our king with whom you spend your time, is it?” someone else said. “You are always in company with the Lord Elrohir.”

Legolas stiffened at the dangerously suggestive comment. “He and I have been friends for many centuries,” he retorted. 

“Which makes it a simple matter to use him for your own purposes,” Gethron sneered. “‘Tis common knowledge that Elessar hearkens to his brother’s counsel in all things. No doubt you have much say in what Lord Elrohir tells the king!”

“That is an absurd notion, my Lord Gethron,” Legolas icily said. “If any desired to _guide_ the king in his rule I warrant it would be you and your ilk. A pity you have no well-placed lackey of your own to aid you in your ambitions!” 

His lightning swift parry of a treacherous charge from behind was all that saved him from a mortal wound to his back. His would-be opponent was taken aback by such an unexpectedly fast reaction from the archer. But this did not prevent him or the others from converging on the Elf with murderous intent.

They obviously expected a quick finish to their fiendish scheme. They were grievously disappointed. Not only did their quarry fend off their attacks, he also dealt some of them serious enough injuries to take them out of the running. And he did so with naught but his one knife. 

It occurred to Legolas that these men had imbibed copious amounts of alcohol to bolster their courage to carry out an ambush on him. Well, the alcohol had indeed given them the needed courage to attack him but it had also rendered them less effective as fighters. Thank Eru for that, Legolas decided as he managed to evade a wicked arcing slash to his belly.

Nevertheless, he was outnumbered and even elven reflexes and skill could not forever protect him from multiple, near simultaneous assaults. He hissed when one blade penetrated his defenses, leaving a long gash on his forearm. It was then, when he was beginning to worry that he might not survive the fight, that circumstances changed once more.

Forced against the wall of a house, he savagely kicked one man in the groin and sent another’s dagger flying. Through the corner of his eye, he espied Gethron lunging at him, sword in upraised hand. A second later, the man screamed in agony, his weapon dropping to the ground as his hand was pinned to the wall of the house by a deftly flung long-bladed _sigil_. 

Suddenly the small space was swarming with men in the black and _mithril_ of the Guards of the Citadel and the uniforms of the soldiers of the White Company of Ithilien. In minutes, Legolas’s assailants were subdued. 

The archer glanced up in time to see Elrohir striding towards the writhing Gethron whose hand remained impaled by the twin’s embedded knife. Directly behind the Elf-lord was Beregond, Captain of the White Company and Faramir’s most trusted officer.

Elrohir, with nary a word, yanked the knife out of wall and flesh. Gethron collapsed to his knees, clutching his bleeding hand, grimacing in pain. He was unceremoniously hauled to his feet by the Elf-warrior.

“You are grown overbold to dare so dastardly an act, Gethron,” he snarled.

“Mercy, lord!” the man gasped. “‘Tis not what you think—!”

“Save your explanations for the king!” Elrohir snapped. “I have no patience for cowardly dogs such as you.”

“My lord!” Duindor hurriedly interrupted. “We meant no harm! It seems we had too much to drink and it clouded our judgment!”

Legolas laid a frigid glare on him. “No harm?” he repeated, barely stifling the impulse to throttle the advisor.

Elrohir placed a soothing hand on his shoulder though he all but skewered the archer’s attackers with his stare. 

“I find it hard to believe that you came after Prince Legolas because of mere intoxication,” he acidly remarked.

“But ‘tis the truth, my lord,” one of the other men insisted. “We did not realize what we were doing!”

“Indeed? Then how do you explain these?”

He flicked a finger across the hilt of one their swords, which along with their other weapons were now in Beregond’s custody. His sarcastic query left the prisoners quite mute. He shifted his gaze to settle solely on a cringing Gethron.

“You are careless with your correspondence, Gethron,” Elrohir informed him. “I found your behavior suspect during the talks with the Swertings. It seemed to me that you were overly familiar with them. And so I set a watch on you and your household.” He paused, letting the baron sweat a little more. “Your messenger was caught heading for the border carrying a letter to the Southrons. A letter of apology that also detailed our future plans pertaining to Harad. A letter bearing your signature and seal.” He smiled grimly when the man’s face whitened almost impossibly. “I wonder what the king will make of this treachery?” he remarked.

“Nay! ‘Tis not treachery!” Gethron cried vehemently.

“Then what do you call it?”

“We only desired to repair the damage done to our potential alliance with Harad!” 

Elrohir raised skeptical eyebrows at the man. “Potential alliance?” he repeated. “You would persist in treating with a treacherous people after having witnessed the unveiling of their deceit? You are not only traitors but also fools as well!”

“‘Twas no unveiling, my lord!” Gethron objected. He looked at Legolas with mingled fear and loathing. “This Elf used enchantment on the Harad ambassador to get the result he wanted.”

Elrohir snorted. “And why, pray tell, would Prince Legolas wish to thwart a treaty with Harad other than to prevent mischief?”

“‘Twas at our behest that the Haradrim broached the treaty in the first place,” Duindor interjected excitedly. “Had it been signed and ratified, it would have elevated us in the king’s eyes being its chief instigators. Naturally, Prince Legolas would not desire such a thing for it would lessen his influence at court!”

Elrohir actually blinked at such convoluted reasoning. “Not just traitors and fools but hare-brained ones, too,” he remarked with some disbelief. “If I did not abide by the laws of this land, I would run you through this instant and rid the kingdom of your perilous stupidity once and for all!” He signed to Beregond. “Take them to the king. He must be told of their foul deeds.”

“Mercy!” howled Duindor. “My lord, Gethron spoke true. ‘Tis not treachery. We only desired the good of Gondor!”

“Spare me your worthless declarations. You colluded with this kingdom’s enemies then attacked a noble guest of the king. What is that if not treachery?”

“He bewitched the ambassador!” Gethron insisted, jabbing a finger at Legolas. “As he bewitches you!”

“Aye,” Duindor eagerly agreed. “You are in his company day and night. He works his magic on you without your knowledge and uses you to induce the king to do his bidding.” 

“Prince Legolas is no warlock to engage in such dark practices,” Elrohir dismissed. “I have known him far longer than all the generations of your fleeting lines and I vouch for his integrity.”

“You trust him overmuch, my lord,” Duindor blurted out. “You do not realize how deeply he has ensorcelled you.”

Elrohir had to laugh at that. “‘Tis a measure of your opinion of me that you should think me easily ensorcelled by another Elf! Hardly flattering I must say.” Again, he signed to Beregond.

This time, the captain did not bother to wait out the prisoners’ fevered protests but had the guards and his own men take them away. Yet the captured men continued to proclaim their good intentions even as they hurled invectives at the Elven prince they deemed an obstacle to their ambitions.

When the last of Legolas’s assailants disappeared from sight, Elrohir turned to the prince. He frowned when he noticed the gash on Legolas’s arm. He reached for the injured limb and examined the wound carefully.

“‘Tis shallow and will heal swiftly,” he said with relief. Without hesitation, he ripped a length of silken fabric from the hem of his own shirt and used it to bind the wound.

Deeply shaken by the miasmic accusations thrown at him, Legolas shuddered. “This would not have happened had you been more reserved in your manner with me,” he said tersely, his voice unsteady. 

Elrohir’s head snapped up; the darkling Elf stared at the archer. “Is that all you have to say?” he gasped.

Legolas looked at him and replied, “What else can I say when the reason for this attack is that which I had been trying to avoid for so long?”

For a tense, silent moment, the Elf-knight gazed at him, his dusky eyes darkening further with every passing second.

“So, your thoughts are finally revealed to me, _ernil daur_ ”—forest prince—Elrohir suddenly snapped.

“I do not know what you mean.”

“But it is clear, is it not? You call into question my actions, my words, my very being. Nothing I do pleases you now.”

“You exaggerate. I only wished that this did not come to pass. And it would not if you had taken more thought to your demeanor with me.”

“What would you have had me do then?”

“I cannot direct your actions, Elrohir, they are your own. But had Aragorn been in your place, he—”

“Has so strong a heart that it could endure its own breaking.”

Legolas gasped in shock as his own words were hurled back caustically at him. For the first time, he saw the unveiled pain in Elrohir’s eyes; realized the other had only been keeping a tight leash on his emotions. 

The warrior continued with unrelenting harshness. “So strong while I am so weak that I hold you hostage to my needs,” he said, voice dripping with bitterness. “You are racking up all my mistakes and waiting to use them as reason enough to break with me. But I suppose that is a kindness for then you would not be feeding me false hopes.”

Legolas felt his heart sink like a stone. The younger twin had been there in the garden. Had heard every scornful, bludgeoning word he had uttered. Dismay and guilt rooted him to the ground. 

“Elrohir,” he murmured. “Forgive me. ”

“For what?” Elrohir choked. “For breaking my heart? That was a possibility from the moment I loved you. A risk I took knowing you as I do. What I did not foresee was that you could be so ruthless. Be gentle, my sister asked of you. She did not know that I had already tasted your steel. And indeed I should salute you for it is obvious that you have bested me!”

He turned away and walked quickly into the shadows, refusing to heed the prince’s pleas for him to turn back.

Legolas stared up at the stars unseeingly. His relationship with Elrohir was all but riven. All that was needed was the formality of words to make the break as clean as possible. He was on the verge of freedom. It was what he wanted; what he’d striven for.

Why then did it feel so bleak?

**************************************  
Glossary:  
sigil - knife or dagger

_To be continued…_


	14. XIII. Shattered

The prince’s return to the great hall was greeted with much concern for him and anger at his attackers. Aragorn made short work of Gethron and his men, throwing them into confinement to await his judgment. But he and Arwen were puzzled by Elrohir’s failure to return as well. If there was one who should have been more than eager to wreak vengeance on Legolas’s assailants, it should have been the twin. Yet he was nowhere to be found. 

Legolas declined to explain why the Elf-warrior had suddenly made himself scarce, his sense of guilt too great at the moment. He could not quite meet Arwen’s incredulous stare.

Elsewhere, Elrohir was caught between fury and anguish. First Legolas had quarreled with him the other day. Then this morning Aragorn had had the temerity to lecture him. Hardly had he recovered his calm when he overheard his sister and the prince discussing him, the latter using terms that grated on his already frayed nerves; words that had cut to the quick despite Arwen’s spirited defense. To top it all, he had come to Legolas’s aid tonight and what had that garnered him? Another reminder of his failings. 

He’d heard Legolas calling his name, imploring him to return. Knew if he’d stopped, the archer would have come after him at once. 'But to what end?' he thought dismally. 'So that he might soothe me with his body once more?' Elrohir shuddered. It was no longer enough. The heat of their couplings, the ecstasy of release in the prince’s arms could no longer make up for the deep-seated pain in his heart. 

He walked on until he found himself nigh to Fen Hollen. He smiled grimly as he noted the slumbering porter and the telltale flask by his side. This was one human who would find himself under fire before long, he thought. He would have to report the man’s egregious negligence himself.

But for now that negligence would serve his purpose. With will-o'-the-wisp lightness, he lifted the key to the Closed Door from the inebriated man’s belt, took a lantern and slipped within in silence. He walked down the climbing path to the Silent Street and at last came to a stop amongst the tombs and houses of dead Kings and Stewards. 

With a dolorous sigh, he sat down upon a stone bench close to the House of Stewards, rebuilt in the years after the last Ruling Steward’s fiery demise. He looked at the building but did not really mark it. He mirthlessly considered the horror of his family were they to discover his whereabouts. But that was the point of coming here. 

He was in no mood for company at the moment. No one would trouble him here. 

“My lord?”

He almost groaned in frustration at the intrusion but something familiar about the sweet, clear voice stayed him. He looked behind him and espied a young woman in the semi-darkness. She had been staring at him all evening in the great hall. He’d thought he knew her but could not quite recall who she was. But now he suddenly recognized her.

“Gilwen?” he said.

She laughed with delight. “You still remember me, my lord!” she said.

Elrohir had to smile. “I confess I did not at first, _hiril nîn_ ”—my lady—he replied. “You have grown up since I last saw you.”

She was a great-niece of Imrahil of Dol Amroth, granddaughter to the Prince’s oldest sister Ivriniel. Her father had served at one point as a counsellor to King Elessar. In that time, she had tagged along behind him whenever her family came to Minas Tirith. He knew she had been infatuated with him but that had come to an end upon her father’s return to Belfalas and the court of her great-uncle.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked.

“I followed you.” She looked at him curiously. “I saw how you helped Prince Legolas. But you seemed so upset afterwards I worried about you and thought I might be of comfort.”

“My thanks for your concern. But ‘twas only a small matter.”

“Oh, I think not,” she said, shaking her head. “I have never seen you so angry before. What did that arrogant Elf say to you to trouble you so deeply?”

“Do not speak of Legolas in that manner,” he said sharply before he could catch himself. 

“Forgive me. ‘Tis just that I do not like to see you hurt,” she said contritely.

Her words were a timely balm for his injured pride and troubled heart. He smiled at her suddenly, which had the effect of speeding up the rate of her heartbeat. “Nay, there is no need to apologize. I should not take my anger out on you.” He looked at her wonderingly. “Did you not fear to come here?”

She looked about at the pale statues and tombs and mansions. A shiver ran through her slender frame. 

“I did,” she admitted. “But you entered and so I followed. ‘Tis not so frightening with you here.” 

He smiled faintly then reached out an inviting hand to her. “Come, tell me about your life since you left Minas Tirith.”

She came forward, her face flushed by the pleasure of his invitation, and sat by his side. “There is nothing to tell, my lord,” she said. “I married and that is all.”

“What?” he chuckled. “That is all? Surely there is more to tell. How is your husband? Is he kind to you?”

“He is kind enough,” she replied. “But no amount of kindness can conceal the fact that we are ill-suited for each other.” 

Elrohir noticed the bitterness that had crept into her voice. Not willing to pry into her reasons, he chose another tack. “And children?” he asked. “Surely you have little ones?”

She shook her head. “I have taken pains to ensure I do not bear him children.”

The twin was taken aback. A crease marred his brow. “The members of your family may carry elven blood in their veins,” he commented, “But I did not think it potent enough to enable you to determine whether you conceive or not.”

“‘Tis not,” she admitted. “I-I went to someone – an old hag in the hills. She gave me something to prevent me from breeding. A potion.”

The crease evolved into a full-blown frown. Elrohir knew of what she spoke. Though Sauron was long defeated and his master, Morgoth, before him, the dark arts they had fostered in their baneful realms still existed in Middle-earth, their practitioners now mostly coming from the ranks of Men. Most of the ancient spells and charms were lost, thank the Powers, for only those with the gift of enchantment could wield them with consistent results. But chemical concoctions enhanced by incantations were not beyond the skills of mortals with limited abilities.

Various poisons were by far the most common of these potions. The orcs had made good use of them since time immemorial and still did so today, but Men had also since learned how to make these toxic brews. But there were other mixtures of foul intent that could be had for a price. Most, if properly made, were effective for after all they had been devised by the two foremost proponents of evil in all of Arda. There were elixirs that could bend the minds of men to the will of whoever administered them, remedies that could increase fertility or destroy budding life, aphrodisiacs and love potions that forced the body or heart from its appointed path. 

The practitioners, self-proclaimed witches and warlocks, fed on the need of men to twist or thwart fate. Though mercifully few and scattered, they nevertheless thrived, each generation passing on to another their black lore. Enough of their brews worked to convince men of their efficacy. Elrohir did not care to think of the horrifying ends of those who had been unfortunate enough to imbibe the potions that did not. For few if any of these so-called sorcerers actually understood the scant knowledge they possessed. Partaking of the results of their dubious talents entailed great risk. 

“You should not indulge in such practices, _hiril_ ,” he cautioned. “They are sprung from the evil of Thangorodrim and Mordor. ‘Tis perilous to dabble in them.”

“But I cannot bear the thought of having children with him!” she softly cried out. 

Curiosity finally won out. “What sets you against your lord?” Elrohir asked.

“He is barely past his majority, a clumsy oaf of a boy who lacks the lore and refinement of my family. Are those not reason enough?”

Elrohir stared at her in sudden compassion. “Gilwen, I am sorry. I did not know you had been wed to one so distasteful to you.”

“Even had you known what could you do?” She choked, “You are an Elvenlord of Rivendell and kinsman to our King and much too high for the likes of me!” She suddenly swayed. 

Shocked, Elrohir caught her. For the first time, he noted that she was not completely sober. The smell of wine was on her breath. Too much wine, he thought.

“Lady, I think you have imbibed more than is good for you,” he murmured.

“Nay, I know what I am doing though I dare say the wine has loosened my tongue a bit.” She looked at him with teary eyes. “I needed to take a little more to get up my courage.”

He stared at her. “Courage for what?”

“Courage to tell you that I have loved you all these years.” She laughed ay his stunned expression. “Oh, do not look so shocked. Surely you know that fully half the female population of Gondor is in love with you!”

Elrohir let his breath out. He knew that, of course. He was well acquainted with the adulation as well as the ambitions and scheming that accompanied it. 

“What is it you want of me?” he quietly asked. When she stared at him in return, he said, “You did not tell me you love me just to unburden your heart, I think.”

She burst into tears. “Nay, I did not. I am so weary, my lord. So tired of pretending and waiting for a boorish child to come home to me when my desires lie elsewhere!” She suddenly threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard.

Reflexively, Elrohir felt himself respond. Part of him was surprised that he could still feel desire outside of love. But he also knew that he was badly in need of release. His talk with Aragorn came back to him as well as the discussion he had overheard between his sister and Legolas. Anger grew within him once more. But instead of lashing out at the young woman, he allowed it to be diverted in another direction.

Yes, why not take this willing body? At least, she loved him. It would be pleasant to be the object of affection or desire for a change. And he had not had a woman in so many years. 

He pulled away from her and looked at her flushed face. He ensnared her with the smile that never failed to set hearts aflutter. She drew in her breath deeply as she read the message in his grey eyes. She did not resist when he stood up and guided her down Rath Dinen to the Closed Door nor did she protest when he led her back to the Citadel, the royal pavilion and his bedchamber.

oOoOoOo

The following morning found the prince of the Woodland Realm of Eryn Lasgalen on his own. He had risen early and had his morning meal in the dining hall. There were very few folk around for most were still recovering from the previous night’s events. Even Aragorn and Arwen seemed to have stayed abed a little later than usual.

After his meal, he hied off to the stables. He had not had the opportunity to see to his steed since arriving in Minas Tirith. 

Legolas curried his horse absently. He was deeply worried about Elrohir and how the twin had dealt with last night’s confrontation. _I hurt him with my ill-spoken words; drove him away with my cruelty._ He had considered going to Elrohir’s room to apologize but feared his friend would still be in too black a mood to even tolerate his presence.

He looked up from what he was doing and saw the object of his thoughts watching from the stable door. Elrohir looked neither happy nor displeased to see him. Sighing, he stopped what he was doing and passed the task to the stable boy. He walked to the Elf-lord.

“You did not return to the hall,” he said as he neared the twin.

Elrohir shrugged. “I had no desire for company.” 

Legolas looked at his friend anxiously. He seemed so spent in spirit, so listless. “I am to blame for that,” he said ruefully. “I am sorry about last night, Elrohir. I had no right to speak to you in that manner. I – I did not even thank you for what you did for me. Please forgive me.”

The Elf-warrior took no notice of the apology. He lowered his eyes and asked quietly, “Legolas, when was the last time you had a woman?”

The prince stared in surprise at such a drastic change in topic. “I beg your pardon?” he said slowly.

“Your hearing is as sharp as mine. You heard what I asked.”

Legolas narrowed his eyes at the rather caustic tone the other had used. His mouth tightened but he refrained from voicing his displeasure. “I think we had best go somewhere else if we are going to discuss this,” he said pointedly. 

Elrohir responded by leading the way down the street toward an empty stretch of road near the bordering wall. He stared down at the winding pathways below while Legolas stood silently at his side. He glanced at the prince and raised an eyebrow to indicate he was waiting for an answer. 

Legolas did not know whether to be offended or not by so impertinent a query. But deciding he did not want another quarrel with Elrohir he replied with as much good grace as possible. He managed a wry smile. “Let us just say it was before the Haradrim incursion. Since then you have kept me too busy to seek female companionship.”

Elrohir only frowned more deeply. “I went to the Hallows last night,” he said quietly, unmindful of Legolas’s surprise. “An old acquaintance joined me there. Do you remember Lady Gilwen?”

Legolas searched his memory. “She is a great-niece of Imrahil, is she not? She used to follow you everywhere.” 

“She followed me last night. She is all grown up and married, did you know?” Legolas shook his head. “To a husband she despises.”

The prince made a sound of disgust. “I will never understand why Men persist in arranging such unions,” he commented.

“She needed comfort last night,” Elrohir went on. “She offered me something else in return. I accepted.”

Legolas went very still. After a while, he smiled without humor. “So much for professions of love and fidelity,” he said dryly. His eyes glinted ominously.

Elrohir laughed bitterly. “You are angry. That is good to know. At least, you still care enough to be jealous of my attentions.” He looked at Legolas and his eyes were suddenly somber. “It had been more than twenty years since I had last lain with anyone. “ He paused a moment at the archer’s unbelieving stare. “She told me she loved me. I thought it would be pleasing to be the one pursued for a change.”

The archer visibly flinched at the reason for his yielding but Elrohir took no notice. 

“It should not have troubled me in the least,” he continued. “I have bedded more women than I care to recall and taken _ellyn_ for the pleasure they could give me. Though I confess I never touched another after I had you in Mirkwood.” He smiled mirthlessly at the archer’s startled reaction. “Last night should not have mattered in the least for what was one more tryst to me? But after we were... done, I remembered why I had not taken other lovers in all these years. Elbereth forgive me but I broke—” He suddenly shuddered.

Legolas looked at him bewilderedly. “Broke what?”

The Elf-knight laid eyes so shadowed with self-castigation upon him that it made him shiver.

“‘Tis hard enough to love someone who loves you not,” Elrohir said softly. “But ‘tis an even greater burden to yield to someone whose love you do not return, especially when yours is already bestowed elsewhere. It leaves a stain on your soul that will not wash away so easily.”

His words made Legolas cringe inwardly pertaining as they did as much to their relationship as to Elrohir’s tryst with Gilwen. Yet there was also a feeling that that was not all that the warrior was referring to. But before he could question him, Elrohir surprised him anew.

“I was wrong to try and make you care for me beyond what might be expected of a friend,” the twin said in a low voice. “It was not right to burden you with my need. I can only imagine how frightened you have been since I told you how I felt and with no one to turn to with your fears. Not even me.” 

Legolas drew a sharp breath. It was uncanny how well Elrohir knew him. “I missed my best friend,” he admitted.

Elrohir nodded. “I know. I am sorry,” he murmured. He swallowed hard then said: “I will not hold you to something you did not seek. I release you from any obligation you feel you have toward me.”

Legolas was taken aback. He had not thought Elrohir would broach the subject so soon. “I have not asked this of you,” he said. 

Sorrow flickered in Elrohir’s eyes. “You do not have to,” he said. “You claim you did not yield your heart to Estel in full and mayhap that is true. Yet you find the memory sweet and incomparable. For restrained as your feelings may have been, you felt three words for him; short and simple words, but more precious than all the treasures of Middle-earth. Since then you have closed your heart once more. Until you let the memory go, unless you reopen your heart, you will never say those words to me.”

“Elrohir—”

“I had thought my hopes were possible but now...” Elrohir turned bright eyes on his friend. Legolas winced silently at the pain so clearly mirrored in them. “I have never run away from the truth. I will not start now. Forget I ever asked anything of you, _ernilen_. Forget I ever touched you and tainted you and the memories of us that you held dear.” He had never spoken in such a toneless voice, bereft of all feeling, of all life.

Legolas gasped. “That is not so! How can you think that?”

“Because I am only Elrohir and against me your heart stays shielded. Be at ease, Legolas, I swear I will trouble you no more.” He turned away even as he spoke to stare unseeingly at the vastness of the Pelennor. 

Legolas stared at him in shock and remorse. “Forgive me for hurting you, Elrohir,” he whispered. “If I could give you what you desire, I—”

“You would. Aye, as you did in the past.” Elrohir sighed. “I understand why you behaved as you did. I do not hold any of it against you. You have always been a true friend and ‘twas I who overstepped my bounds. Please, do not trouble yourself any longer over this.” 

“But I do not wish to end it this way!”

“There is no other way.” 

The archer reached desperately for him, clasped his hand between his suddenly clammy palms. “Can we not – can we not be as friends again?” he implored.

The saddest eyes he’d ever beheld met his for an instant before they reverted to their aimless stare. “I wish we could,” Elrohir softly said. “But you know ‘tis not possible, Calenlass. That ended when I declared myself to you. You now know of my regard and that would only discomfort you. You will always hold my attentions suspect and shy even from the slightest touch of my hand, fear my gaze should it be warmer than wonted.”

“Nay, I would not!” the prince protested vehemently.

“Deceive me if you wish, if only out of your kindness, but do not deceive yourself.”

Legolas thought his heart would give out, so pained was it at this imminent severance of their friendship. “Elrohir, I beg of you, do not let this sunder us,” he almost sobbed.

“Forgive me, my prince, but this once I cannot grant your desire. There is no going back.” He gently pulled his hand out of the archer’s grasp. Again the twilight eyes alighted on him for the briefest of moments, tenderness and affection in their depths. “I will always love you, Legolas, even should the world change once more.” And then their light was vanquished and the warrior turned from him. “Please go. I need to be alone.” 

His voice brooked no protest or resistance. Legolas, though fiercely unwilling to go, could do nothing more than obey. 

As he slowly walked away, his eyes stinging furiously, he glanced back at the Elf-warrior. Elrohir stood straight and tall and proud. Any who passed him by would never have guessed at the grief that ravaged him from within. 

*************************************  
Glossary:  
ellyn – male Elves  
ernilen – my prince

_To be continued…_


	15. XIV. Love's Price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I explained my reasons for the cause of Elrohir’s state of being in this chapter earlier in the series but in case anyone missed it, I’m repeating it here:_
> 
> I am well aware that ‘fading’ as Tolkien intended the term to mean has nothing to do with dying from grief or a terrible ordeal but is simply a way of describing the slow change that will eventually render an Elf invisible and intangible to the world at large. My use of the word as well as others of similar meaning – waning, failing, languishing – has more to do with the deleterious effects of pining away for a lost or unrequited love or being overwhelmed by extreme sorrow or torment. For the purposes of this series – call it creative license, AU, whatever – my version of the Elves can and do experience such a debilitating condition. Surely even as near perfect a race as the Firstborn must have chinks in their figurative armor and the ability of a passionate _and_ immortal being to feel deeply and suffer excessively for it does not seem all that far-fetched in my humble opinion.

Legolas scarcely saw Elrohir in the days that followed. The darkling Elf held true to his word and avoided him. Only at meals did they see each other and even then the twin maintained his distance, sitting by Eldarion or the Queen, never letting their eyes meet if possible. The prince felt an overwhelming sense of loss at the Elf-knight’s avoidance though he concealed it well. 

He saw the shadow grow beneath the warrior’s eyes, felt the dimming of his flame, witnessed the slow weakening of his body manifested in a mounting weariness and listlessness. Every once in a while, when the twin did not mark his presence, so diminished were his senses, he would catch a glimpse of the anguish in the grey eyes; the raw, unhealing hurt. 

He knew it was not only his rejection that wounded Elrohir so profoundly but also the knowledge that he had been compared and found wanting. That his feelings, his thoughts, his love had been accounted of no significance when held up to the prince’s deliberately jaundiced eye. Legolas had not only refused his love but betrayed his trust as well.

The archer desperately wished to ask for forgiveness, to make amends, to do something, anything to wipe away the terrible pain he would espy in the Elf-knight’s eyes. A pain that alternated with a frightening emptiness that stripped him of everything that had made him a figure to reckon with in all of Gondor. Noble Elvenlord, fierce warrior and sage counsellor. 

But Elrohir held him at bay, would not give him any opportunity to offer comfort or caring. He knew why. Unless it was love that he would speak of he was worse than useless to the Elf-lord’s needs. Yet the twin remained steadfast in his resolve though the grief ate away at him. His family could only helplessly watch the silent unraveling of his very being but the one person who could help he held at arm’s length.

It was heartrending to see him retreat at times to a place within himself where no one could follow, not even his foster-brother, sister or nephew. Unseeing, unknowing, thoughts and feelings turned inward as he lost all interest, all hope in the world without. Only at his family’s desperate entreaties would he force himself out of the darkness, his love for them sparking his guttering flame anew into a steady blaze for a while. For a while.

Legolas wondered if Elladan in far-off Rivendell could feel his twin’s flickering spirit. If only Elladan were here, he thought in his misery. He would know how to reach his brother. He would heal his grief. But the prince knew the thought to be a lie even as it passed through his mind. Not even Elladan had the ability to heal this malady. Only Legolas held the cure but he hesitated to wield it and he knew all too well that Elrohir would refuse it if he gave it unwillingly. And so the decline continued. 

The diminishment became all too apparent the last afternoon of the archer’s stay. Hidden in the shadow of the White Tower, he watched Elrohir as he helped Eldarion hone his skills in hand-to-hand combat in the archery yard behind. Legolas held his breath as the warrior actually finished a bout winded. Elrohir panted and swayed a little when he should not have been affected in the least. 

The woodland prince anxiously noted the increased leanness of his limbs, the markedly drawn features of his countenance. For the first time, he realized the Elf-knight was beginning to look delicate, almost fragile. _Ethereal._ It was not a word anyone would have previously used to describe the fearsome warrior whose _Edain_ blood lent him a brawn not of Elvenkind. 

“He is dying,” a hushed voice startled him.

He glanced to his side as Arwen came up beside him. The Queen was stony-faced but her eyes flashed with emotion. “I see him failing before my very eyes.” 

Legolas did not know what to say except, “I am sorry.”

“Of what use is an apology if my brother wanes?” Arwen demanded quietly. “But then mayhap ‘tis in your interest that it should come to pass for then you would be freed of the fetters of his love.”

Legolas stared at her in hurt shock. “That is uncalled for, _rîs_ Gondor”—queen of Gondor—he hissed. “How could you think me capable of such a thing?”

The Queen turned cold eyes on him. “Because you are,” she softly seethed. “You deny him though you know ‘twill be the end of him!” 

“You would have me force what is _not_ there!” he snapped.

“Nay, I would have you _admit_ what _is_ there!” she countered. “But you would rather see him die than unshield your stony heart.” Her words rendered the prince speechless. “You are not the tender comrade I knew who loved him enough to submit rather than end your cherished friendship. You hearken to your misgivings over the one who loves you more than life itself. I pity you. You are doomed to a lonely eternity without ever knowing the full bliss of true love.”

Before Legolas could respond, they heard a shout and turned their attention back to the sparring match. Eldarion was anxiously fussing over his uncle for Elrohir looked alarmingly pale and unsteady. The Elf managed to pacify his nephew before commanding him to begin archery practice. His strained smile was all too obvious to the watching Queen and Elf-prince. 

He happened to glance in their direction. Becoming aware of their presence, his smile vanished completely and he flushed painfully. Then he caught hold of himself and turned his attention back to Eldarion. Legolas heard Arwen’s sharp intake of breath. Without a word, she withdrew from his side, her silence a damning accusation for which he could find no rebuttal.

oOoOoOo

Valiant heart, tender soul, Legolas thought helplessly as he regarded Elrohir that night as they gathered in Aragorn’s study after the evening meal. The sable-haired warrior tried to allay his sister’s anxieties, jested for her fearful son and put up a smiling face for her worried husband. He refused to let them fret over him; gently brushed aside their inquiries about his state of being. Only once did he look at Legolas and that was inadvertent.

The twilight eyes dimmed in that moment, the sinuous lips tightened involuntarily, and then he recollected himself and a mask slid into place over his expressive features. He averted his gaze and resolutely kept it elsewhere. Legolas felt something shrivel within when the grey pools turned from him. It was as if a candle had been snuffed out, leaving him in the cold and lonely darkness. 

Arwen, however, would pin him here and then with a pointed glare. Yet the Queen concealed her ire from the others, said nothing of the truth to her family, and thus spared him their certain enmity. Why, he did not know. Until the following day. 

The next morning, the royal couple and their son came to bid him farewell. Elrohir did not. 

King and heir were greatly troubled by the warrior’s non-appearance. They were grieved by his waning; understood what had befallen him but were not aware of what exactly had passed between the two Elves. 

After waving away the guards that they should hear nothing of a sensitive nature, Aragorn looked at Legolas entreatingly. “We cannot force you to return something you do not feel, _mellon nîn_ ”—my friend —he said. “But can you not stay and be of comfort to him? It would surely lift his spirits to have you nigh at hand.” 

Remembering his last conversation with Elrohir, the prince softly declined. His response earned the Queen’s anger. She skewered him with a black glare, torn between the urge to lash out at him and the desire to aid her brother. 

“You cannot leave him like this,” she insisted. “Let me fetch him. He would come if I summoned him.”

Legolas sighed. “If he wanted to see me off, you would not need to send for him. Let him be, Arwen.”

She stiffened, her lovely face turning stormy. “But of course. He has freed you,” she nearly spat. “You are no longer beholden to him; no longer held hostage to his needs. You and your misbegotten fears!” 

At her husband and son’s bewildered stares, she strove to rein in her temper. 

“ _Melethen_ , why do you speak so harshly?” Aragorn asked frowningly. “What has Legolas done to merit such treatment?”

“‘Tis not for me to tell you,” she said tightly. She locked eyes with the Elven prince, her stare openly goading him. 

Legolas rallied, stared back at her, eyes flashing angrily as well. “You have already begun your charge, why halt it now?” he snapped. “What use for discretion when you have already most likely vented your spleen upon me to any who would listen?” 

Arwen’s simmering rage erupted. “I have shared this with no one, not even my own lord and son, for _he_ bade me to speak no ill of you before them,” she informed him icily. The information took him aback and she smiled scornfully. “Even to the end, he protects you from the ire of others. But I will not countenance it any longer. I will not shield one so unworthy of his tender heart!” she ground out corrosively. “Fool that I am, I had dared to hope that you would yield at this last for I trusted his judgment of you. But why should you yield when ‘twas for this parting that you broke his very spirit!” 

Aragorn and Eldarion looked at her in utter shock before turning to stare at Legolas. Her wrath knowing no bounds in her anguish for her brother, Arwen released a final volley.

She spat contemptuously: “Guarded heart? ‘Tis a myth! You have _no_ heart, Thranduilion!” 

Ignoring Legolas’s blanched countenance at her scathing pronouncement she swept away with nary a backward glance. For a stunned moment, king, heir and Elven prince were struck mute. And then Eldarion looked at Legolas incredulously. 

“Is what she said true?” he questioned anxiously. Legolas could not meet his searching gaze. The youth backed away, disbelief in his comely countenance. “What does she mean?” Eldarion asked almost pleadingly. “What did you do to – to break—? Legolas—?”

When the archer could do naught but shake his head, the young prince caught back a shuddering breath. “What Mother said – about your fears— What are you afraid of?” he demanded, near tears despite his manful efforts to stay them. 

Still Legolas did not speak. Eldarion bit his lip then spun on his heel and hurried after his mother. The archer glanced warily at the King. Aragorn was ashen-faced. 

“You willfully denied him knowing what would become of him,” he half whispered, eyes wide with consternation and as much disbelief as his son’s.

“Nay, I never intended that it would come to this,” Legolas protested.

“Yet it has.” The king’s regard turned stern. “It seems none of us truly knew you,” he remarked coldly. “Not even my brothers whose friendship you claim to treasure so dearly.”

His face grim, he, too, turned away and followed his wife and son. 

Stricken with guilt and misery, the archer mounted his steed and led the contingent away. At the last moment, before he made the first turn down the street, he looked back. He espied a slender figure just by the Citadel gate. Argent eyes bade him goodbye; no trace of recrimination or anger marred their limpid depths. 

The prince almost turned his mount around to go back but Elrohir lowered his head and disappeared into the High City. With a heavy heart, Legolas continued on his way, his people following him in silence.

oOoOoOo

They had crossed Anduin into Ithilien and still the heaviness in Legolas’s heart did not lighten. If anything it grew ever heavier as they drew farther away from Minas Tirith. And when they came within sight of Emyn Arnen and still the burden did not lift, Legolas knew there was something terribly wrong.

He had always felt a sense of belonging when he saw those hills. Known a feeling of homecoming that made his heart glad and soul rejoice. But now he felt empty. He could feel no comfort, no welcome relief. And an ache gnawed at him from within. His eyes fell upon the exquisite gold band on his right index finger. 

It had never left his finger since Elrohir had gifted him with it. Not even when he slept or bathed did he remove it. He had thought to return it before he left Minas Tirith but he’d realized how much more pain that would inflict on the Elf-knight. 'As if I have not already hurt him enough,' Legolas thought remorsefully. He gazed wistfully at the ring. It seemed to him that it challenged and beckoned and reproached all at once. 

He suddenly brought his horse to a halt. Around him the other Elves also stopped, looking at him in puzzlement. He ignored them and turned his steed around, staring at the City of the Kings in the distance. He stayed that way for the longest time, seeking something he knew not what. And the ache refused to cease. Indeed, it had waxed steadily since his last glimpse of Elrohir.

He turned inwards, strove to understand his feelings. Turmoil and confusion abounded within. He grappled with his emotions, forced himself to sort them out and see them as they truly were. 

Since the Elder days, the Elves of Greenwood had suppressed the innate duality of their nature. In the need to perpetuate their race amidst the uncertainties of Middle-earth, the binding of _Edhil_ of the same kind came to be viewed as extraneous and, eventually, by the time of his obstreperous grandsire, Oropher, even aberrant. The inclination, of course, could not be banished; it was as native to the Elves as their immortality. But it had been forced into the shadows of Greenwood’s Silvan culture; something known to be done but not encouraged or flaunted.

Scion of Oropher’s house, Legolas had been raised in this atmosphere, ignorant of that part of him that lay dormant for lack of enlightenment or opportunity for expression. He had indulged his passions solely in Elf-women, never dreaming that he was capable of so much more. 

Any attraction to fellow males was explained away as the natural elvish appreciation of physical beauty or the admiration or hero worship of those with qualities worth emulating. The prince had accepted these reasonings without question; no male Elf had yet evoked in him anything to make him believe otherwise.

The alliance with Rivendell had forced a wedge into the closed society of Eryn Galen and served as the first incursion of the ancient ways into the Woodland Realm. But even then, Thranduil’s people had been slow to accept such profound changes in their traditions. 

Legolas, despite his ample exposure to these differences in the company of Elrond’s sons, had not embraced them with any marked swiftness or enthusiasm either. Not even the surprising revelation that others coveted him in that manner had changed his views of such passions and the Elves who felt them. They were to be pitied, tolerated, even assisted if need be; he had come to accept that it was normal for their race. But it was not for him. He believed it never would be. 

Until Elrohir had awakened in him that which he had long denied existed in his very blood. What he could ignore with other _ellyn_ he could not with the younger twin. Elrohir had kindled something in him, educing not just passive acceptance of his touch but an enthusiastic response to and eventually an active, undeniable craving for it. He’d discovered that he wanted the Elf-warrior as much as he had any Elf-maid. But his fear of emotional intimacy had not vanished and even deepened his determination to avoid engaging in affairs of the heart. 

Elrohir had confessed to understanding this and had left him in ignorant peace, opting to keep his feelings from his friend. But his devotion had never waned, his tender regard never abated. If anything, he had been ever more patient and caring since... since the night he made his choice. 

Emotional pain lanced through Legolas as he comprehended the truth at last. 

When the twins had chosen to be of Elvenkind, the grace for them to remain in Middle-earth past the time of their father’s departure had been contingent on each pledging to bind himself to an Elf who would then stand in Elrond’s stead. While Legolas had known it was his sister Nimeithel who owned Elladan’s heart, he had wondered at the time as to who would hold Elrohir’s immortality in his or her hands. 

_‘Twas I._

Legolas drew in a ragged breath. 'He bound his heart and spirit to me though I did not know it,' he thought in shock. 

He closed his eyes, his heart beating wildly. 'I am every kind of fool,' he berated himself. And a blind and deaf one as well.

All the signs had been there from the moment Elrohir pledged himself to be of the Elves. It had been more glaringly apparent when he revealed his love to Legolas on Mindolluin. 

Legolas almost groaned out loud as he realized yet another truth. Until Gilwen, Elrohir had not bedded another in the two decades since the declaration of his choice. How could he when he had promised himself heart and soul to the archer? It was no wonder that he felt so tainted by his encounter with the mortal woman. In his eyes, he had betrayed his oath of fidelity. 

'But I did not see or hear,' Legolas thought painfully. 'I was so caught up in my own feelings I failed to comprehend what he had done in the name of his. How is it that he still loves me when I have proved myself so unworthy of his devotion?' 

His mind raced through all the repercussions of Elrohir’s sacrifice. 

A true binding occurred not only when an Elf gave his heart but also when his spirit sought to belong to the one to whom he had given it. Once this came to pass, it triggered a desire for intimacy with that sole beloved; an intimacy of an intensity and relentlessness unknown to any other race in all of Arda. Such was the passion of the Firstborn for how else could love and lust for a single mate outlast eternity itself? Few could endure and not surrender to despair should love not be accepted, requited or expressed. 

For so long as Elrohir had still held hope that Legolas might yet love him in turn, he’d remained steadfast; had been so strong of heart and spirit as to be numbered amongst those few who could withstand the ravages of love unreturned. But when Legolas had stripped him of all hope, he’d finally succumbed to the one thing that could be accounted an illness among the Elves. Grief. And with it came the degrading slide into darkness for fading thusly deprived an Elf of all grace and dignity. It showed its merciless hand in Elrohir’s swift waning. Now Legolas, too, could feel the beginnings of that insidious pain and finally recognized the cause of it.

It came to him, with blinding clarity, why he felt so lost, so pained, so... incomplete. 

_He stirs me in a way no other being ever has. He always has. And there is no other reason for it but I would not admit it. Ah, stubborn, ignorant fool that I am! Elbereth forgive me, I have wronged him beyond bearing._

A new fear coursed through his whole being. A new, far more daunting fear than any he had ever felt in all his years. It thundered in his head, froze his very blood. The reason for its existence cudgeled him with brutal force.

If he did not unshield his heart, if he did not turn back now... he would never see Elrohir again. 

He visibly trembled; his hands shook violently as he gripped his mount’s mane. Forcing himself to calm down, he glanced at his companions, noticed their alarmed expressions.

“I am returning to Minas Tirith,” he suddenly announced. 

The other Elves stared at him in surprise. “Highness, we are already more than a day’s journey away,” said his captain. “Even should we ride without stopping, we shall not reach the Guarded City until late this night.”

“I know,” Legolas said. “I do not ask you to accompany me. I will go alone.”

“Nay, my prince, we would never let you go alone. We will go back with you.”

Legolas only nodded. “I expect you will be damnably housed,” he told the others. “I will not rouse the King’s household at an unholy hour just to accommodate this mad whim of mine.”

He urged his steed into a wild gallop, unmindful if the others followed or not. 

**********************************  
Glossary:  
melethen – my love  
Thranduilion - son of Thranduil  
ellyn – male Elves

_To be continued…_


	16. XV. Morning's Embrace

The Citadel was dark for it was way past the midnight hour. The guards stared into the darkness, their ears and eyes alert for anything beyond the usual, ready to challenge any presence that did not belong there. But none of them heard the feet that swiftly traversed the stone pavement or saw the slight figure that passed through the gate under their very noses and melded with the shadows in the Court of the Fountain. With an ease that spoke of great familiarity with his surroundings, the intruder made its way into the royal pavilion and hurried down a dim corridor with nary a sound. It stopped at one particular door.

Legolas stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him. He silently passed through the sitting room and entered the bedchamber. Only the moonlight from the balcony and windows illuminated the chamber. He walked to the bedside table and set alight the single taper upon it. As the wick burst into flame, he looked down at Elrohir.

The Elf-knight lay on his side, his obsidian mane spilling about his shoulders and upon the pillow like a mantle of darkest silk. In the flickering light, Legolas could see the disquiet in the perfect even if drawn features of the twin. Though asleep, he was not at peace. A slight frown marred his fine brow and the sable lashes were still damp from recently shed tears. The archer realized he must have just fallen into this troubled repose. 

He looked utterly alone and painfully vulnerable. And to the prince’s newly enlightened eyes he was achingly, bewitchingly, incomparably beautiful. 

He swallowed hard then stifled a groan when he felt the heat pool in his groin at the very thought of claiming the Elf-knight for his own. He fought to still the tremors that threatened to weaken his limbs. By Elbereth, he was no chaste maiden on her wedding night! He was a warrior, learned in all the ways of loving save one. And this last one he intended to master before the night was done. 

Legolas sat on the edge of the bed and stroked the other’s cheek with the back of his hand. He knew Elrohir’s war-honed senses, not yet completely lulled by deep slumber, would alert him to the presence of an intruder. He did not wait long. One moment, Elrohir was fast asleep, oblivious of his surroundings. The next moment he had jerked awake, grabbing at the wrist of the hand that touched him. He stared up at the face he beheld.

“‘Tis only I.” 

Elrohir blinked in disbelief, his mind still dulled by sleep. “Legolas?” He struggled to sit up but Legolas placed a hand on his chest and kept him from rising any further.

“What are you doing here?” Elrohir asked thickly. “You should have been in Ithilien by now.”

“I turned back.”

“Turned back? Why did you do that?”

In answer, the prince bent over him and kissed him on the mouth. Elrohir was rendered motionless by surprise. Then he felt the hand on his chest firmly pushing him down onto his pillows. Any residual grogginess promptly vanished as his lips were forced apart and his mouth invaded and tasted with a voraciousness that left him bereft of breath and sense. To his shock, slender fingers set to nimbly unlacing the ties on the loose shirt and trousers he had taken to wearing as his waning rendered him susceptible even to the pleasant coolness of early autumn. 

Bewildered, he attempted to stop the other Elf. But his hands were caught in a strong grip and pushed down at either side of his shoulders. Weakened as he was by his grief, his strength was no longer equal to the archer’s. Legolas continued to undress him, silencing him with his lips whenever he tried to protest. 

“What are you doing?” he finally managed to get a few words in.

“Hush,” the prince whispered. “Just let me.”

“Let you—?” Another kiss effectively cut him off.

Elrohir’s head spun in confusion. He wanted to know why Legolas had returned, why he was doing this, why he would even want to in the first place. But he could not pull his thoughts into any coherent pattern for long. Not when Legolas’s lips and tongue explored his flesh as it was bared. Or when shining hair brushed seductively against his skin while a beguiling woodsy scent filled his nostrils. And when the prince quickly stripped then molded his slender form against his, all was lost and he finally gave up trying to forge anything in his mind, lucid or not. He surrendered and let Legolas do with him as he wished.

With new but well-learned skill, audacious Greenwood subdued, ravished, took possession of the hallowed center of noble Imladris. 

Elrohir moaned as the prince trailed hungry kisses over his neck and throat, gasped when he sucked hard at the roseate nipples that graced his smooth muscled chest, groaned as the finely boned hands roamed over his body all too knowingly and intimately. For the first time in a long lifetime of carnal exploration, he lay helpless, submitting to another’s demands. It was partly his physical decline, partly the peremptory manner in which Legolas had taken control.

He shivered as the archer moved steadily down his body, tasting, it seemed, every inch of skin along the way. Elrohir was thoroughly befuddled. _What has come over him? Why this hunger?_ He was abruptly shaken out of his cerebral meanderings when he felt himself enclosed in the moist warmth of the prince’s mouth.

“Legolas!” Shocked, unbelieving, he reached down to the golden head to grasp the other’s shoulders. 

The prince gripped his wrists and pinned them down. He looked up at the dazed twin, his sapphire eyes meeting the Elf-knight’s grey gaze. 

Elrohir stared at the archer. He did not recall ever seeing Legolas’s eyes so lust-darkened. And then the prince took him once more into his mouth and he fell back against his pillow shuddering with the sensation. 

Legolas proved an excellent student. Everything Elrohir had ever done to him he now employed more than ably on his erstwhile teacher. And found he enjoyed it immensely. The very taste and feel of Elrohir maddened him. Now that he had unshackled his heart and given it free rein, it opened his eyes and the full measure of Elrohir’s radiance was thus revealed to him. Overcome, he found the darkling Elf utterly irresistible. 

Whether he was plundering the honeyed reaches of his silky mouth, pillaging the sinewy plains of his slender torso or ravaging the luscious column of his proud length, he could not decide which he savored most. Everything about Elrohir pleased his senses, heated his blood, roused his predatory instincts. And it was intoxicating to see the Elf-rider lose command of himself; gratifying for he knew just how rarely the twin relinquished dominance in any matter. 

Under such edacious handling, Elrohir soon found himself perilously close to exploding. He did not know how Legolas would deal with his release. He hoped it would not prove unpleasant for the prince this first time. Not that he could hold back any longer. His usual control deserted him and he finally gave in, spending himself in the archer’s warm mouth. 

He lay with his eyes closed, panting, striving to regain some semblance of order in his being. He felt Legolas move to straddle him and he opened his eyes to stare at the golden-maned Elf. He colored slightly when he saw the other’s lips glisten tellingly. The archer’s mouth curled into a smile in response to the rosiness that stained the warrior’s cheeks.

“Had I known how delightful this could be I would have tried it centuries ago,” he teased huskily.

Elrohir’s bafflement deepened. “I do not understand,” he murmured unsteadily. “Why are you doing this?”

Crystalline eyes raked his tall frame with a curious mix of salaciousness and reverence then returned to regard his endearingly bemused countenance. “I want you, Aduial. I would take you if you will let me,” Legolas whispered. 

Elrohir’s eyes widened. He’d never yielded to Legolas for the prince had not shown a proclivity to take that position with him. Admittedly, that had relieved him. It was something he’d never allowed with anyone for to submit to another was alien to his nature. But now Legolas did want it and he knew it was not in him to deny the one Elf who owned his heart. He swallowed hard and tried to calm himself. Wordlessly, he nodded. 

Legolas noted his unease and wondered at it. “Have you never let anyone take you before?” he queried in some disbelief. 

“Nay,” Elrohir admitted whisperingly. 

Legolas gazed at him with fast burgeoning elation. “I suppose this should not surprise me,” he said. “Your pride would never let you submit to anyone.”

With a wicked smile, he slipped a pillow beneath Elrohir’s hips then parted the Elf-knight’s legs further and moved down purposely between them. Elrohir grasped convulsively at the sheets then uttered a guttural groan when he felt Legolas’s tongue pierce him. It had been ages since he’d last allowed any to caress him thusly and those had been his first bed-teachers. But none had been as aggressive as Legolas, tasting of him far more deeply and possessively than any previous lover ever had. Pleasure snaked its way through his nerves and his quiescent shaft came to life anew.

He could not help flinching when a seed-slickened finger replaced the prince’s tongue. There was no hint of hesitation as Legolas deftly accustomed him to the sensation of penetration just as he had done for the archer his first time of submission. He hissed as the intrusion became more pronounced and his vulnerability more apparent. And then rapture crept through his limbs once more as Legolas stroked him where he was most sensitive. He bit back a moan, could not stifle another as the prince continued his peerless ministrations.

All the while, Legolas peppered his belly, groin and thighs with lusty kisses and playful bites, pausing to suckle teasingly at his reawakened shaft. The miniscule part of Elrohir’s mind that was still sentient pondered the prince’s ability to recall in detail virtually everything he had done to him in the past. Not to mention his unexpected creativity in an act he’d had the opportunity to experience with Elrohir alone. 

He had to close his eyes when Legolas lifted his hips and legs, shifting him into position. He involuntarily held his breath when he felt the archer press against him only to release it in a startled gasp when Legolas breached him in one swift, sure thrust. His eyes flew open to stare at the archer. 

Legolas was gazing at him with something akin to exultation. The sapphire pools were nearly black with passion. “You do not know how much this pleases me, Elf-knight,” he growled. “To claim the one part of you still untouched by any other... your pride has served me well!” he almost crowed.

Elrohir barely had time to register the unexpected words before the archer began to move. He drew his breath in sharply as Legolas sought and found the exact spot that caused lightning streaks of pleasure to course through his body. He felt the prince’s hand on his shaft, stroking him confidently, rhythmically, with each pounding thrust. Elrohir pressed back against the pillows, shaking as exquisite sensation rushed through his very veins. It was useless trying to hold on to any control at all. 

“Legolas, this-this is too m-much!“ he rasped as his forbearance neared the end of its tether.

“Then let go, Aduial!”

The archer’s words were like a trigger and, panting raggedly, Elrohir surrendered to his body’s need. Stars exploded behind his closed eyes as he shuddered uncontrollably, his body surging with indescribable rapture. Instinctively, he tightened his muscles around Legolas’s shaft, giving in to his body’s need to heighten the singular sensation of pleasurable fullness even further. And the throes of his climax flowed from him to sweep over his lover. 

Legolas’s breath caught as he felt the Elf-knight’s powerful muscles clench around him. He had not known, never imagined that could happen. The sensation was astounding. It was almost excruciating in its intensity. It was absolute bliss. And coupled with that now familiar echo of pleasure that resonated through him, it was exquisite beyond description. 

Elrohir heard Legolas’s feral groan of completion, felt the prince sink deep and hard into him with one last plunge, and experienced for the first time the sensation of liquid heat spilling deep within him. 

After several heartbeats, the archer withdrew from him, reluctantly it seemed for he certainly took his time doing so. As his senses sought their peripatetic way back to normalcy, the Elf-lord finally opened his eyes and saw that Legolas was bent over him, bracing himself with his arms on either side of the twin’s shoulders. He, too, was breathing heavily but there was no doubting that he’d relished the reason for it. 

The archer’s eyes bore into him with – what? Satisfaction? Triumph? Elrohir could not make heads or tails of what had just happened. “Why?” he whispered.

His answer was a deep kiss that only confounded him further. Legolas drew away with a gratified sigh, then shifted off him. Elrohir stared at the enigmatic prince as the latter pulled him into a tender embrace so that they faced each other.

Though he was already struggling against his exhausted body’s demand for sleep, he tried once more. “Legolas, please, what is it you—?” 

A finger on his lips silenced him. “You need to rest,” the prince crooned softly. “We can speak of this tomorrow.”

Elrohir gave up. He was in no condition to insist. He was just too drained at the moment. His eyelids fluttered then closed. The last thing he remembered was a gentle kiss upon his forehead and a whispered, “Sleep well, my brave one.”

oOoOoOo

When Elrohir awoke at dawn the following day, his first drowsy thought was that he’d had the most improbable dream. But he started when he felt the bite of the chilly morning air upon his skin and came awake with a snap. He was naked and his clothing was on the floor beside the bed. He sat up quickly; the sudden movement caused an unaccustomed ache to course through his lower body and he winced. But he felt strangely invigorated, as if he had passed through the depths of a shadow into the golden light of a new day. How...?

His heart pounding, Elrohir let memory wash over him like a wave. _Elbereth, ‘twas no dream!_ Still in shock, he noticed a small piece of parchment upon the pillow at his side. He took it up. There was just one word on it written in flowing elvish script.

Elrohir rose from his bed and swiftly dressed. Within minutes he was hurrying out of his chamber, pulling his cloak about his shoulders. He was still affected by his recent grief and was, for now, vulnerable to the elements. Mindful of the prince’s apparent desire to keep his presence unmarked by the denizens of the Citadel, he took care to slip past all the sentries unseen. 

He left the City and climbed up the steep path to the high field on Mindolluin where he had declared his feelings to Legolas more than a year ago. All the while, his thoughts swirled around in his head and questions abounded. He reached the field and saw Legolas standing near its edge, gazing out at the Pelennor. The Elf’s eyes were unfocused, as if he were in deep thought or lost in a dream. Elrohir slowly approached him.

“Legolas?” he hesitantly said. The blue eyes lost their vacant stare. Legolas turned his gaze upon the twin. Elrohir was startled by the look in them. “Are you all right?” he asked, now hurrying forward.

Legolas smiled tremulously then caught his hand in his. “I hope you did not mind my leaving you before you woke,” he murmured. “But I needed the time to prepare this.”

Elrohir stared at the large basket the archer indicated where it rested under the shade of a slender tree. A basket filled with crusty bread, sharp cheese, fresh fruit and sweet mead. 

“I thought you might enjoy breaking your fast here... with me.”

Elrohir felt his bewilderment increase. Why this attention to his needs? What was going on? He peered wonderingly at the archer and thereby caught the merest flicker of uncertainty in the depths of his eyes.

“Are you all right?” he repeated. 

The prince went still. And then he half laughed, half sighed. “All right? I do not know. I...” The Elf-knight grew worried. He rarely saw Legolas so unsure. “Elrohir, I am afraid,” the archer suddenly whispered.

Elrohir was astonished. “Afraid of what?” he said.

“Of what I feel.” Legolas drew in a deep breath. “You asked last night why I returned.”

Elrohir nodded. “It seemed strange that you turned back when you were already so near home.”

“Nay, it did not feel like home. Something was missing.” Legolas struggled with what he would say. It was more difficult than he had expected and he found he could not come to the point as quickly as he would have liked or should have. “I left Minas Tirith with a heavy heart and it refused to lighten even when we came to Ithilien. I realized then that this was because what I wanted was not there but here. I could not stay away.” He let out a regretful breath. “I should have listened to Aragorn and not left in the first place.”

An awful suspicion formed in Elrohir’s mind. “Aragorn?” he managed to repeat. He stared at the prince with bated breath. 

“Aye, when he saw me off yesterday, he urged me to stay and mend things with you,” Legolas said ruefully. “His love for you is such that he scored me quite severely for abandoning you.” 

Incredible pain surged through his very being as Elrohir considered Legolas’s words. He hardly paid attention to the rest of the archer’s account.

“And Arwen was even worse. She—” 

“Sweet Eru, is that why you came to me?” Elrohir cut in tightly. “And I thought...” He could not finish his sentence. 

Legolas looked at him, startled by the raw agony in the warrior’s eyes. “Elrohir—?” 

Elrohir suddenly made a sound that was a cross between a harsh sob and a bitter laugh. “I should have known,” he said, his voice shaking. “You esteem him so highly you could not endure the loss of his regard even if it meant playing whore to my needs!” His eyes suddenly gleamed with anguish and betrayal. Oblivious of the archer’s shocked reaction, he snapped: “You should not have come back, Legolas. I have no need for false comfort!” 

In a flash, Legolas realized what his careless words had wrought. Horrified, he grasped Elrohir’s wrist when the other turned to leave.

“Nay, Elrohir, ‘tis not what you think!” he exclaimed. “I returned because I missed you!” The Elvenlord stopped but did not turn around. “Aduial, please look at me.”

The twin did as he was bid but the eyes he cast upon the prince were wounded and wary. Legolas felt his heart ache for the other’s grief. Elrohir was so near breaking he could not summon even the faintest hope despite what Legolas had just revealed. 

“I wanted _you_ , Elrohir _nîn_ ”—my Elf-knight—Legolas said earnestly, tugging firmly at the twin’s hand. 

Elrohir blinked at the possessive utterance of his name. Slowly, he allowed Legolas to pull him back. He was still cautious for he had suffered too many blows to let his guard down now. “I do not understand,” he said. “You said you came back because Estel—”

“I only meant that had I listened to him I would not have wasted so much time,” Legolas urgently explained. ”Had I stayed I could have been with you that much sooner. But I did not do this for him. I care not if his esteem for me is gone. ‘Tis you I desire, Elrohir, you and your love.”

His words pierced Elrohir’s caution. For the first time the twin’s eyes reflected just the tiniest spark of hope. It was enough for Legolas. He clasped the warrior’s hands in his and lifted them to his lips. 

Elrohir felt a tremor course through his arms as Legolas almost reverently kissed the fine knuckles of his hands. The prince lifted his eyes and gazed at the Elf-knight. 

“My heart is yours, Elrohir,” he softly declared. 

The twin’s eyes widened incredulously. 

“If you – if you... Do you still... want it?”

Elrohir let out his breath at the apprehensive, almost timorous query. The archer was virtually quaking in his boots, dreading that his long-held fear would still come to pass. That in finally giving his love, it would now be crushed and cast away. 

Elrohir had always understood his lover’s fear. Legolas had long protected himself from being crushed by love’s vagaries by withholding himself from love. For him to deliver into anyone’s hands the power to hurt him was indeed a frightening experience. But to the Elf-knight, it was a most precious gift.

A gentle smile lit up Elrohir’s countenance. “Legolas, you _are_ my heart,” he said quietly. At the archer’s quick intake of breath, he added softly, “Do you realize what day this is?”

Legolas looked at him wonderingly for a moment then started. His eyes lighted up in comprehension. “‘Tis your begetting day,” he said.

“Aye, and I had thought it would be the darkest day yet in all my life,” Elrohir said in a hushed voice. “But, the Valar be praised, ‘tis now one of the brightest for you have given me the only gift I ever desired.” 

Legolas caught him to himself and held him tightly, burying his face in the Elf-knight’s sleek neck. His heart swelled and his spirit soared when the twin enfolded him in a snug embrace. Peace and contentment enveloped him like a warm mantle. It felt as if he had finally come home. 

He was keenly aware of this almost undeserved blessing. Elrohir could have very well turned him away and no one would have blamed him, least of all Legolas himself. Indeed, it had gnawed at him as he awaited the twin’s arrival, torn as he’d been between hope and apprehension. For Elrohir’s acquiescence the night before, however glorious, had been no surety that he would accept Legolas after all that had passed between them. 

He’d been weakened by his waning, taken unawares by the prince’s seduction. In the rousing brightness of day, his mind returned to full lucidity, there had been every chance of the Elf-knight deciding he wanted no more to do with so willful and difficult a lover. He could very well have spurned Legolas’ belated overtures.

It had terrified the woodland prince to the very foundations of his soul. For one thing he knew with certainty. He did not have Elrohir’s strength of heart. Not in this first and only venture into love’s reaches. Had his Twilight turned from him, he would have been lost. 

He shivered as tender lips pressed against the side of his neck. A compelling need to confirm his acceptance, to prove that he did belong to Elrohir seared him. Turning his face, he looked into the warrior’s mithril-hued eyes.

“Love me,” he implored.

“Forever, Calenlassen,” came the sweet reply.

“Now, Aduial, love me now,” Legolas begged. “I would know that I am yours.”

Elrohir’s breath caught at the passionate plea. “ As you wish,” he whispered. 

Legolas undid Elrohir’s cloak and, upon drawing it from his shoulders, threw it down on the grass. In mutual desire, they joined in a kiss. Tender at first, the tentative beginning of a new phase in their relationship. But it could not remain so gentle. Before long, they were sealed in a burning caress that left them both shuddering. They sank down upon the mantle, their mouths still clinging. 

It was nearly an hour later when they became aware once more of the world beyond. Legolas lifted his head from Elrohir’s shoulder to gaze at his lover. When Elrohir sensed his regard and returned the gaze, he brushed soft lips against the twin’s mouth.

“Thank you,” Elrohir whispered.

Legolas peered at him wonderingly. “For what?”

“For giving me your heart.”

The archer stared at him then shook his head. “‘Tis I who should be grateful,” he murmured. “Others would have given up on me long ago but you...” He pressed another kiss to his Elf-knight’s lips.

Elrohir was looking at him raptly when he drew back. “What gained your trust? What stayed your fear?” the twin softly asked. “I had thought you forever guarded.”

Legolas lowered his eyes, somewhat abashed by the question. “I have listened to my mind all these long years,” he murmured. “And always it counseled me to beware. To trust no one with my love. But on the way to Ithilien, I could not still my heart’s plea to be heard. And so I finally hearkened to it.”

“And?”

“It wanted you.” He lifted his eyes to meet Elrohir’s gaze. “It knew it would be safe with you. I realized then what a fool I’d been to fear your loving. I realized that if I lost you I would regret it forevermore.” The archer sighed. “Would that I had listened to my heart long ago,” he murmured repentantly.

Elrohir could not speak at first. But he looked at his beloved prince with such radiant affection as to rival the heat of Anór itself.

“The way you look at me...” Legolas whispered. “I pray it will always be thusly.”

Elrohir smiled. “Always, _seron vell._ ”—beloved.

Undone, the archer eagerly sought anew his Elf-knight’s potent kisses. His sweet embrace. His incomparable loving. 

*******************************************  
Glossary:  
Aduial - Twilight  
Calenlassen - my Greenleaf  
Anór - the sun

To be continued… __


	17. XVI. Transition

_Ivanneth_ F.A. 21 – _Gwirith_ F.A. 22  
They endured their inevitable separation reluctantly. Legolas was thankful he’d thought to prepare the picnic breakfast for it enabled them to celebrate Elrohir’s begetting day in an intimate and affectionate fashion. After they shared the bountiful repast, the prince drew the warrior into further love-play, receiving him with all the eagerness of a wanton much to Elrohir’s delight. It was nearly midday when they parted their bodies for the last time and dressed. Legolas left to rejoin his people and ride back to Ithilien while Elrohir slipped back into the Citadel with none the wiser as to his activities that morning. 

In these initial fragile weeks of their renewed liaison, they did not speak of the deeper stirrings of their hearts. They chose to take it slowly, to accord themselves the benefits of courtship, which admittedly had not been part of their love’s progression. In particular and for their respective reasons, neither brought up the matter of the one-sided binding that held the Imladrin lord to the Greenwood prince. For now, they were content to simply love each other. 

For the rest of the month and the first half of October, they met as often as they could without arousing the suspicions of others. For in one thing Legolas had been right. Discretion was still a must in this land of Men where the customs of Elvenkind were not always understood and even sometimes condemned. And so they trysted with utmost caution, sometimes in the small inns along the road from Ithilien to Minas Tirith, at other times in sparsely populated Osgiliath. 

Not once did Elrohir visit Legolas in Ithilien. It was not yet the right time for that. 

He did not tell Arwen or Aragorn or even Eldarion of the sweet culmination of all his waiting, the end to his hopelessness and sorrow. Their shock and anger with Legolas was still too recent, too raw, for them to condone his acceptance of the archer’s avowal of love. 

He knew Aragorn would caution him against opening himself to the possibility of renewed pain and he could just imagine his sister’s reaction. Arwen had been most vehement in her castigation of the woodland prince. Only Eldarion had inhibited himself from actively disliking Legolas though he had been deeply disappointed with the archer’s actions and no longer spoke of him with admiration as had been his wont. They would not understand his immediate capitulation and would only urge him to beware of one who might toy with his devotion anon. 

Unfortunately, Elrohir’s state of health was still such that his sister and foster-brother might not believe the archer’s loving true. While the waning from grief was swift and brutal, the recovery, if there was one, was slow and gentle. What had taken mere weeks to strip from the younger twin would now entail months of healing to restore. 

Elrohir thought it prudent to let their understandable feelings of rancor diminish with time. They loved him. They feared to lose him. They had vented their fear and anger upon the one they perceived to be the reason for their imminent loss. That made for strained relations with Eryn Gael’s lord.

Legolas wholeheartedly agreed with him. He was in no haste to endure Arwen’s caustic tongue so soon or Aragorn’s cold glare or Eldarion’s lowered opinion of him. By all means, let the passing days temper the edge of their ire, he told Elrohir. He did not mind at all so long as his Elf-rider loved him. And so Legolas kept his communications with the king on a formal and official level while his relations with the king’s brother became progressively more personal and intimate.

Only once did he reappear in Minas Tirith and that was for the judgment of Gethron and his cohorts. The royal family was civil but cool with him. It actually worked to his advantage during the proceedings. 

With Elessar’s distant demeanor with the Elf-prince suggesting some recent disagreement between the two of them, the traitors’ insinuations about undue influence and unholy practices suddenly rang hollow. Mayhap the prince’s friendship with the king’s foster-brother was closer than most men were used to, but it was evident neither the Lord Elrohir nor Elessar himself were inclined to let the matter guide their decisions in matters of government. How else to explain the king’s less than warm behavior with the Elven prince? 

And what unholy practices? None had seen evidence of anything unnatural between the woodland prince and Elessar’s Elf-brother. Indeed, if anything it seemed they were not as close as previously supposed. Why, look at the Lord Elrohir! He had obviously been ill as his almost delicate appearance evinced so glaringly. Yet had that stopped the Elf-prince from leaving the Guarded City? Nay! Was that the natural comportment of someone whose interest in another was more than platonic? Of course not! And so the discussions went and eventually wound down to die a natural death.

The upshot of all these events was Elessar’s startling decision regarding the fate of Gethron and company. 

“Since you esteem the Haradrim even above the citizens of the land of your birth, you are most welcome to make your abode amongst them,” he stated, eliciting gasps of shock from all and sundry and cries of dismay from the accused. “You have until daybreak tomorrow to put your affairs in order and depart from this realm. May you have good fortune in your bids to start anew in Harad. Believe me, gentlemen, you will need it!” 

The judgment was more than enough to dampen any further notions of trickery or treachery. In Gondor, the soon-to-be exiles had had some influence and that had made them of some worth to the Southrons. But in Harad, they were as nothing and, with no connections left to the Reunited Kingdom, they would be less than useless to the Haradrim. Elessar’s sentence was little more than a death sentence if these former lords failed to eke out an existence in the Swertings’ realm.

All throughout, Elrohir and Legolas maintained their professional miens, neither betraying by look nor word nor touch how much they longed to be alone that they might share more than a look or word or touch. Afterwards, Legolas returned to Ithilien and Elrohir prepared for his departure for Rivendell. 

For in the latter part of October, they were perforce compelled to part when Elrohir made his once yearly sojourn to his home. Legolas did not protest or Elrohir refuse this duty. They were both princes born and reared and accepted the responsibilities their positions entailed to the people they ruled and protected. But so anxious was Legolas to store up as much of his Elf-knight’s loving as possible that, on the eve of the warrior’s departure, he recklessly took the risk of being seen by the wrong people at the wrong time and in the wrong place and spent the entire night with his lover in one of the inns of Minas Tirith itself. 

Elrohir’s journey to Imladris proved a most poignant one. Just weeks earlier he had planned the trip with the intent of spending his last days on Arda in the valley of his birth. Instead, he arrived so incandescent with life and loving that his brother and law-sister were quite overwhelmed by his very presence. 

To Elladan and Nimeithel alone did he reveal the reason for his joy and the compelling luminosity in his eyes. Nor did he hide the painful events that had preceded this reconciliation with his long-time love. 

While Nimeithel smugly announced that she had known it would come to that, Elladan could not help proclaiming it was about time and he would tell Legolas so when they met again! But as that pronouncement was followed by a most tender embrace for his twin and a knowing grin, Elrohir’s worries that his brother might yet do Legolas bodily harm were largely allayed. Of course, as to whether Elladan would give him a piece of his mind was entirely the older twin’s prerogative and Elrohir would simply have to stay by Legolas’s side if his brother should push through with his threat. 

During the months that followed, he assuaged his acute yearning for his prince by indulging in the task of altering his bedchamber from a bachelor’s sanctuary to a haven for two. In this he had Elladan’s questionable assistance and Nimeithel’s more substantial aid. He had no doubt that his lover was doing much the same with his quarters in Eryn Gael and the thought of the mercurial Wood-elf embroiled in such domestic activities oft brought an amused smile to his lips.

But his stay in Rivendell was suddenly abbreviated when word came from Gondor that war loomed once more. Unlike in years past, the Haradrim had not awaited the onset of spring before harassing Gondor’s borders again. In January they had engaged the Men of the West in an escalating series of skirmishes. And now a great battle was expected to take place before very long. Ithilien was in worse straits. As early as December, orcs had taken to making raids on the province. And so Gondor’s forces were split with King Éomer and the Rohirrim riding to Elessar’s aid while Faramir and Legolas contended with the incursions into their territory. Alarmed by the tidings, Elrohir headed back south, Elladan at his side.

His return was greeted with much astonishment and disbelief. King and Queen had been expecting the worse all through winter; had virtually awaited a letter from Elladan announcing his passing. When he arrived with his twin at the gate of the Citadel, looking as glorious as the day he’d first set foot in Gondor during the War, they were practically struck dumb. Relief and delight soon followed and with that their previous anger with Legolas slowly began to dissipate. That their gradual turnaround had to do with their belief that Elrohir had gotten over his passion for the prince was of no matter to the younger twin. Biding his time, he patiently awaited the proper moment when they would be most accepting of the truth. 

In the meantime, the reason for his precipitate return to Gondor came to pass. The brethren rode to war with their king-brother. Formidable captains both, they helped Elessar lead and rally Gondor’s forces as the last great battle in the south was fought. When it was over, the Haradrim threat was ended once and for all. Flushed with the sweet rush of their victory, Aragorn and his son and Elf-brothers returned to a jubilant Minas Tirith. Mayhap peace would come to the kingdom in this lifetime after all. 

If anything marred the triumphant mood, it was the reports of continued strife in Ithilien. If Faramir and Legolas were unable to contain the situation soon, Aragorn would be compelled to send his war-weary forces to their aid and that was something he did not relish. Yet it was not his forces the king wound up sending but two most dear to his family’s collective heart.

oOoOoOo

The royal family sat together in the small dining alcove for their evening meal. It was but two days since the men’s return from the decisive battle against the Haradrim. Arwen was now very great with child and her husband and son solicitously saw to her comfort before settling themselves. Their conversation was as usual. The worrying Ithilien problem. Eldarion’s training as prince and warrior. The impending arrival of Elladan’s wife, Nimeithel, to join him in Gondor for a spell. Aragorn’s indecision as to whether his daughters were old enough to take part in their oft-mature discussions.

They were midway through the meal when Elrohir suddenly gasped and an odd expression appeared on his face. Arwen noticed the change at once. 

“Elrohir, are you all right?” she asked.

The twin lifted his eyes to hers then turned to the King. “Estel, I must go to Ithilien at once,” he said. “I am needed there.”

Aragorn was surprised. Arwen protested at once. Too often had Elrohir returned from the campaigns in the south accompanied by harrowing tales of his courage and near brushes with death. In Ithilien, battle was more often than not engaged after ambush if any survived the ambush in the first place. It was far more perilous than the open fighting on the plains of Rohan or Harondor. 

“Can you not wait until they have cleansed the region?” she pleaded.

“Nay, I must go now. Legolas needs me.”

King, Queen and Prince stared at him. “Faramir reports that great numbers of orcs still ravage the countryside,” Aragorn pointed out. “Legolas will likely be far from his halls. There is still much fighting to be done.”

“And I shall fight at his side.”

“Elrohir—” 

“I will go, Estel, whether you will it or not.” It was said calmly but firmly. The grey eyes did not waver.

Elladan studied him. “You sense him from afar,” he said. His brother glanced at him and nodded. The older twin turned to his law-brother. “Do not stop him, Estel.”

Aragorn looked from one twin to the other. He glanced at his worried wife then sighed. “Very well,” he said. “But bring a full company of soldiers with you. You will most likely need help.”

“I will go with you, _gwanneth_ ”—younger twin—Elladan said. 

“My thanks.” 

Elrohir left to prepare for the journey. Eldarion glanced at Elladan questioningly. “How could he possibly sense Legolas all the way in Ithilien, Uncle?” he asked.

Elladan shook his head. “There are some matters you know nothing about, but I am not at liberty to reveal them.” 

Arwen regarded her older brother thoughtfully then looked ruefully at her husband. “It seems we have been kept in the dark about more than a few things,” she remarked. “Not that we can blame Elrohir for that. We were rather hard on Legolas, I confess.”

Eldarion gasped. “Hard, _Nana_?”—Mama—he sputtered. “You were quite ready to flay him alive!”

Aragorn shook his head, a small smile gracing his mouth. Patting his suddenly flustered wife’s hand soothingly, he said, “We were only fearful for Elrohir’s life, _meleth_. Legolas will not take that against us.” 

A spark of indignation flickered in Arwen’s eyes. “And he should not considering how he treated Elrohir!” she retorted.

“Ah, _thel neth_ , why did we bother to send our forces against Harad?” Elladan laughed. “We should have just dropped you in their midst and ended the battle soonest!”

oOoOoOo

Elrohir did not speak of what drove him to make the journey to Ithilien with all haste. He only broached the need to reach the province within the shortest time possible. And so he urged his men to move quickly, taking only the briefest of rests along the way. Only his brother understood his anxiety.

They came within sight of Emyn Arnen and turned south heading for Eryn Gael. Elrohir became more wary. The dryadic beauty of Ithilien was deceptive; orcs still made frequent incursions into the province. Only the valor of the Elves and the vigilance of Faramir’s warriors kept them at bay. 

They were still many hours away from the colony when he suddenly brought his horse to a halt. He looked to the east as if waiting for something. His men watched him uneasily. But his brother trusted his senses and if he sensed that something was wrong then Elladan accepted that it was so. His conviction communicated itself to the others and none voiced their doubts about the Elvenlord’s actions.

Elrohir drew his breath in sharply. There it was again. It was just a whisper in his mind but it was enough. Without a word, he spurred his horse in the direction he sensed the thought had come from. The company followed him unquestioningly.

They passed through a wooded area. Elrohir continued onward, drawn by some secret call. They did not get far before they saw signs of an ongoing battle. They saw the still warm bodies of Elves and orcs, fallen weapons and fresh blood staining the grass. And soon they heard the sounds of the fighting itself. They emanated from a great clearing towards the edge of the woods. 

Fear clutched at Elrohir’s heart. What if he was too late? With an angry cry he drew his sword and dug his heels into his mount. The great warhorse plunged forward. The rest followed swiftly as the Elf-warrior led the way.

The Men of Gondor burst into the clearing and onto a scene of carnage. They fell upon the enemy with fury. 

Quickly assessing the situation, Elrohir realized that the Elves were outnumbered by their foes. Yet they fought on valiantly, bringing down many orcs even as they themselves were slain. The men’s arrival was more than timely. 

Elrohir cut down orcs with feral efficiency. A cold rage shook him as he became aware of just how many _Edhil_ had perished in the battle and only his deeply ingrained sense of discipline prevented him from blindly lashing out without thought to safety or strategy. He loved the Elves of Ithilien as much as he did his own people of Rivendell and it filled him with fury that so foul an enemy should dare to lessen their already diminished numbers. Yet despite the confusion and violence about him, he still searched desperately, looking for one face, one figure amongst all the chaos.

A flash of gold caught his eye. He saw the Elf-prince a fair distance away. Legolas stood alone, sword flashing lethally as he fought off his foes. He was surrounded by fallen Elves. And he was wounded. Elrohir saw the shaft of a black arrow protruding from his right shoulder and the way he faltered when he moved his arm. Alarmed, he urged his steed toward the archer as fast as the animal could go. 

Legolas knew he was in great peril. He was surrounded, cut off from his people. And his injury hindered his movements. Each time he raised his right arm, the strain pulled at the wound and caused great pain to course through his body. He did not know how much longer he could hold out before an orc breached his defenses and dealt him a fatal blow.

He was more than relieved when two orcs behind him suddenly shrieked in pain and fell backwards in quick succession, arrows skewering their throats. He looked up and saw the great warhorse nearing him, its rider hacking away at the remaining orcs that sought to slay him. 

“Legolas, behind you!” 

His mount at full gallop, Elrohir bent down and reached out his hand to the prince. Legolas grasped it and, using it as leverage, vaulted onto the warhorse behind Elrohir just as more goblins converged on his position. One attempted to slay the horse but Legolas lashed out with his foot and caught the creature full in the face, sending it flying backwards onto some of its comrades. Elrohir rode the rest down, letting his steed trample them into the bloodstained ground.

The twin moved away from the thick of the fighting, his precious cargo now slumping against him. Once away from the brunt of battle, he scanned the clearing to see how the fighting had gone.

The tide had turned with the coming of the Men of Gondor. Already the fighting had begun to wind down. Before long, the sounds of strife faded away as the last of the orcs were hunted down as they fled, and slain.

After ascertaining that the danger was over, Elrohir helped Legolas dismount. The fair-haired Elf allowed himself to be half-carried to a tree against which he could lean. Elrohir wasted no time in greetings but swiftly cut open his lover’s tunic and shirt to bare the wound. The arrow was deeply imbedded but there was not too much bleeding. At least, the archer would not suffer from blood loss. He inspected the arrow’s position in the wound. 

“It will have to go through, Legolas,” he tersely said.

“Do it then,” Legolas replied.

Elrohir blanched. He had frequently done this procedure on the battlefield for others. But to do it for his beloved was something else. He knew he did not have it in him to cause Legolas even more pain. He called to his brother for assistance. Elladan came swiftly to the fallen Elf, bearing bandages and healing herbs.

The twins had a hurried consultation. Elladan’s mouth tightened as he made his own examination. “There is poison, I think. You will have to draw it out after I extract the arrow.” He glanced anxiously at Legolas. The prince was paler than usual, pain etched into his features. Yet he made no sound beyond an occasional labored release of breath

“ _Muindor_ , hold him,” Elladan ordered. The younger twin obeyed and cradled the prince against his shoulder. 

Elladan took hold of the shaft. With a quick bend, he broke off the fletched end. Even the slight movement jarred Legolas’s already agonized shoulder. A hiss escaped his lips and his free hand clutched convulsively at Elrohir’s arm. The twin bit his lip knowing worse was to come. 

Elladan manipulated the arrow, angling the head away from bone or cartilage. With each movement Legolas’s hold grew tighter until Elrohir thought his arm would break. Yet the prince refused to make a sound.

Elladan took a firm hold on the broken shaft. He glanced at Legolas. The archer simply nodded and braced himself. Elladan drove the arrowhead all the way through. This time Legolas could not stifle a gasping groan. Shuddering, he buried his face in Elrohir’s chest. The raven-haired Elf wrapped his arms around him and held him closer, trying to impart whatever comfort he could give, dropping kisses on the golden hair.

Elladan gingerly extracted the bloodied shaft from behind the prince’s shoulder. After examining the wound, he was satisfied that there were no splinters left within. He nodded to Elrohir. “You may let him go,” he softly said.

Slowly, as gently as he could manage, Elrohir laid Legolas back against the tree. “I will leave you to draw out the poison,” his brother said. “I must help with the other wounded.” He hurried off. 

Elrohir set to work, his nimble fingers and healer’s skills manipulating the wounded flesh, coaxing most of the toxin out of the prince’s veins. There would be some poison left but, with time and enough rest, Legolas’s body would neutralize it on its own. 

Legolas winced as the wounds burned under Elrohir’s ministrations. After a while, he gazed at the other Elf with some wonder. “How did you know where to find us?” he asked.

Elrohir glanced up at him. “I heard you in my thoughts back in Minas Tirith,” he said. “I knew you needed my help. And then I sensed you again when we arrived in Ithilien.”

Legolas nodded. “Aye, I did need your help. I was wishing you could come.” He looked questioningly at his lover. “You heard me in your thoughts? Was that how you knew that I was under attack from Gethron’s men?” 

Elrohir only nodded. Legolas longed to ask more but he was distracted just then. A hiss escaped him as Elrohir began to clean the wounds using water from his flask. He heaved a sigh of relief when the other finally finished. The warrior began to apply the healing herbs, careful not to cause more pain.

“I cannot believe these goblins nearly defeated you,” Elrohir frowned. “I have never seen you or your people so weary.” 

Legolas sighed. “It has been four months since I have spent any length of time in my home, Elrohir. We have been fighting almost every other day. My people are exhausted.”

Elrohir looked shocked. “Why did you not send for help from Gondor?” he asked as he now wound bandages around the injuries.

“We cannot always ask aid of Gondor.”

“Yet Gondor always asks it of you!” Elrohir retorted indignantly. He finished binding the prince’s wounds. 

Legolas cocked an eye at the other Elf and said dryly: “I know very well that Aragorn has been busy.”

Elrohir snorted but did not deny the archer’s point. “I am glad I came in time,” he said instead. “I feared for you.”

Legolas shook his head. “We have seen more battles than either of us can count, Aduial. You should not worry about me overmuch.”

“You cannot ask me not to worry, _ind nîn_.”—my heart.

Legolas smiled slightly. He conceded the point with a nod and relaxed against the tree. 

Elrohir looked the other Elf over, seeking for other injuries. He was relieved to find none. But he did note the other’s appearance. Legolas’s pallor was far from normal and there were shadows under his eyes. The tiny braids that held back his fair hair had come undone. Smudges of blood marred his ivory skin. His tunic and shirt were ripped and his breeches and boots were smeared with mud and gore.

“You look a mess,” the Elvenlord remarked. A golden eyebrow rose caustically. Elrohir met the other’s gaze, his grey eyes glittering darkly. “Yet you are still the closest thing to perfection I have ever known,” he said in a low voice.

The blue eyes warmed, a slow smile creased the well-shaped lips. Of their own accord, Elrohir’s eyes dropped to the prince’s mouth.

_Later, melethron._

Elrohir blushed faintly as the thought brushed his mind. Legolas laughed softly. The sound cheered the weary Elves and filled the men with unexpected delight. Not a few of them looked at the Elven prince with awe, wondering at his undiminished comeliness. Elrohir noted their interest and frowned much to his brother’s amusement. With marked protectiveness, he drew his own mantle around the prince before seeing to the business of burying or burning the fallen.

It was late afternoon when the company of Elves and Men began the journey to Eryn Gael. The group did not hurry so as not to put too much strain on the injured among them. Elrohir had insisted that Legolas ride with him and had set the prince before him on his steed. 

He knew great pleasure and contentment when Legolas leaned back trustingly against him. It had been long since he had felt the Elf-prince’s body and warmth next to his. Thankful that his lover was safe, he drew him even closer. The pure woodsy scent teased his nostrils in spite of the expected smells of blood and sweat and long travel. But enticing though it was, he did not attempt anything that would even hint at intimacy. Not when the men could see them. And anyway, Legolas needed rest and time to recover.

Nevertheless, under cover of darkness, when he saw that none were looking his way, he took his chance. He gently blew the prince’s hair from his shoulder, baring the side of his neck, and pressed a kiss upon the smooth skin. He felt the tremor that passed through the other’s body. 

Legolas turned his face toward the twin, his eyes gleaming. Elrohir leaned forward and caught his lips in a quick but heated caress. They smiled at each other before Legolas relaxed against his Elf-knight once more and let himself drift into elvish dreams.

****************************************  
Glossary:  
Ivanneth, Gwirith - Sindarin for September and April  
meleth – love  
thel neth – younger sister  
muindor - brother  
melethron – male lover 

_To be continued..._


	18. XVII. Binding-Call

Upon reaching Eryn Gael late that night, the twins bore the prince to his home at once. Turning down help from his servants, they settled Legolas in his bedchamber where Elrohir gently stripped him of his battle-soiled garments and washed him down while Elladan changed the bloody bandages. 

Together the brethren changed the wet and stained bed sheets as well. The prince slipped into a healing slumber soon after. A knock on the door called Elladan away while Elrohir built a fire in the hearth. 

Elladan returned to his side after a few minutes. “Faramir has just sent word. His scouts have discovered the orcs’ encampment and he plans to attack them at dawn,” he quietly said. “I will take our men and join him. You stay here and watch over Legolas.” 

Elrohir acquiesced gratefully. He looked about the usually neat chamber; noted the neglect due to the archer’s frequent and prolonged absences from his home. Naturally, the servants would not touch their lord’s personal belongings in his absence. 

“I might as well make myself useful and fix what I can. Legolas has scarcely spent any time here in the past four months and nearly every day wasted in battle.”

“Four months!” Elladan exclaimed in shock. “‘Tis no wonder he and his people were so weary.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Let us hope this will be the last of these creatures’ incursions into Ithilien for a while. I should be back in three days.” He nodded in the sleeping prince’s direction. “He will be awake before then. Try to keep him in bed, _muindor_.”—brother. 

Elrohir snorted. “Keep Legolas in bed?” he echoed. “I will have to sit on him to manage that!”

Elladan grinned. “Do what you must so long as you do not live up to your name and ride him ragged!”

Elrohir blushed deeply at that. With a growl, he punched his brother hard in the arm. Elladan yelped and managed to duck a second blow. Snickering, he slipped out of the bedchamber, leaving a red-faced Elrohir to start on his self-appointed chores.

The younger twin swiftly set things right in the archer’s bedchamber. Before long the room began to look as he remembered it. That is, considering the many changes within. As Elrohir had surmised during his months in Rivendell, Legolas had made several alterations to his quarters. It was no longer a room meant for one occupant but a chamber for two lovers. 

With a smile, he moved to the writing desk and began to put in order whatever articles were upon it. Pulling open the sole compartment of the table, he spotted a small wooden chest, its contents sticking out and thus preventing the cover from settling properly in place.

He took it out and removed the lid, seeking to rearrange the contents of the chest. A rather foul smell assaulted his nostrils. In disbelief, he picked up three old pipes and a decrepit looking bag that stank of—he wrinkled his nose—pipe-weed! And practically ancient pipe-weed at that! These must have belonged to the Halflings, he realized. Though one of the pipes was larger and longer than the other two. He grinned upon recognizing it. 

Of course, that one belonged to Mithrandir. How often had he and Elladan watched the Wizard puff away expertly on it and assailed him for indulging in such a smelly habit? Then again, Estel had also taken it up much to Rivendell’s collective dismay.

He returned the pipes and picked up a leaf-shaped clasp. There was no mistaking the craftsmanship of Lórien. His grandparents had gifted each member of the Fellowship with clasps just like this one. Legolas oft used his as a matter of fact. Mayhap this one had belonged to his good friend Gimli? 

Setting the clasp down, he fingered the one remaining item in the chest. A small velvety pouch. Curious, he opened it and inverted it onto his hand. A small silver medallion on a thin chain slid onto his palm. Elrohir’s eyes widened. He’d seen this medallion before. Tensely, he sought the tiny latch on its side and undid it. The medallion sprung open revealing one lock of black hair. Elrohir’s mouth tightened. _Estel._

He glanced at the sleeping archer, a frown furrowing his brow. He turned back to regard the medallion. Sighing, he closed it and slipped it back into its pouch. Then he neatly restored all the tokens to the chest and returned the container to its rightful place. Useless to dwell on his discovery for now. He would await the prince’s awakening.

The following morning, he took it upon himself to see to Legolas’s duties around the colony. It was late afternoon when he returned to the prince’s halls. Carrying a small basket of healing herbs and fresh bandages, he opened the door to the archer’s bedchamber. He stopped in the doorway and had to smile ruefully at the sight that greeted him. 

Legolas was seated on the furs before the hearth, staring at the crackling flames. He had pulled a blanket around his frame. Elrohir approached and knelt before him.

“Are you chilled?” he asked softly. 

Legolas smiled and nodded. “I find my resistance to the elements somewhat diminished. And I also feel fatigued by the simplest movements.”

"'Tis the effects of your injury and the poison,” Elrohir said. “It will take time before you truly recover. You should be in bed.”

“Nay, I cannot bear to stay there another minute. I prefer to sit here, Elrohir.”

The twin sighed. “You have always been too independent of mind for your own good, _Edhelen_.”—my Elf. Legolas chuckled. Elrohir smiled and said, ”Very well then, sit here if you wish. But I must dress your wounds anew.”

He helped Legolas doff his shirt. Elrohir frowned slightly, thinking once more that the bandages marred the woodland Elf’s perfection. He unwound them carefully and examined the wounds. “They are healing well,” he smiled. He quickly set to work with herbs and bindings. 

Legolas sighed with some frustration. The bandages limited his ability to move his arm and he chafed at the restriction. He looked forward to being free of them. 

Done with his ministrations, Elrohir put the basket aside and sat back cross-legged before the prince while the latter drew on his shirt once more. The tokens he had found were still on his mind and he considered how to broach the matter to the other Elf. He studied Legolas, wondering how to start.

The prince glanced at him and noted that he was looking at him thoughtfully. “What is it?” he asked.

Elrohir hesitated. “I have been putting your things in order,” he said. “Your desk in particular was quite a sight. It seems you left everything in disarray before you went to hunt the orcs.

Legolas chuckled. “Aye, I did. The missive regarding their raids was so sudden and urgent that I had no time to do more than gather up my people and leave as soon as possible.”

Elrohir nodded slowly. “I did not mean to pry or look upon anything you deemed private,” he said. “But I did find some things you obviously hold dear.” He paused. “I saw the mementos you kept from the Quest. The ones the surviving members of the Company gave you.”

He cleared his throat. “I saw the pipes from the Hobbits and Gandalf, the Lórien clasp from Gimli... and the medallion from Estel with a lock of his hair. I could not help noticing that you kept it apart from the others in its own pouch.” 

The archer looked at him sharply. Legolas anxiously studied the darkling Elf’s features for distress of any kind. But Elrohir kept his face impassive. The archer bit his lip. "'Tis his token you wonder about,” he murmured. “It troubles you. You think I kept it out of lingering affection for him. I should have cast it away rather than have it disturb you now.”

Elrohir looked at the other; noted his creased brow. For a while silence fell between them. “I could not ask you to do such a thing,” he finally said. “That you kept it means you consider it precious for the memories it holds for you. But I will not deny that I wondered anew about what passed between you and Estel.” He paused, trying to put his thoughts into order. “You told me you would not feel the like again. If that was true... then what is it that you and I have?”

The Elf-rider’s face revealed nothing of his thoughts and his words were softly spoken, with no hint of rancor or accusation. But buried in their gentle depths were Elrohir’s reawakened doubts. Legolas suddenly realized what he had ignored all along and should have addressed as soon as he’d admitted his feelings for the twin. 

In his initial joy and relief at finally winning the archer’s love, Elrohir had put aside his reservations regarding Legolas’s attachment to Aragorn in the wake of the Quest. But he could not do so indefinitely. Before he could truly believe that he held Legolas’s heart in full, he needed to know just where he stood in comparison to his foster-brother. Legolas had to banish those ghosts if Elrohir were ever to be wholly at peace with the archer’s choice.

Legolas mulled over his words carefully. Whatever he said could very well determine the course of his relationship with Elrohir. 

“Aragorn proved to be so much more than I had ever expected of him,” he said at last. “He bore qualities I’d not thought possible in Men. I came to admire him above all others, to trust him with all my heart. For the first time in my life I thought I had discovered what it was to love.” He flinched inwardly when Elrohir’s lips involuntarily tightened at this revelation. “That I recovered so swiftly after our parting is proof that this was not so,” he offered quickly, hoping to soothe the other.

“Yet you hurt when he wed my sister,” Elrohir said flatly. Seeing past the unemotional statement to the skepticism beyond, Legolas reached for the dark-haired Elf’s hand and clasped it tightly.

“My feelings were intense given the perils we had shared and had so recently passed through,” he explained. “It was not a simple matter to put them to rest.” He looked into Elrohir’s eyes, desperately willing the other to truly hear what he was trying to say. “I mistook those feelings for love. Had I perceived this then, I would not have suffered any hurt.” 

Elrohir’s eyes were unreadable. Legolas felt his anxiety rise at the other’s demeanor. Then the silvered pools opened to him, darkened with apprehension. “How do you know that you have not made another mistake regarding your feelings for me?” the twin asked so softly, the prince almost did not hear him,

Legolas’s eyes widened at the query. There was no mistaking the fear in Elrohir’s voice now. The grey eyes were unveiled and vulnerable. He could discern all too clearly the thought in the other’s mind. _Will I lose you just when I have gained you?_

Legolas felt his throat tighten with pain for the other. He raised Elrohir’s hand to his mouth, pressed his lips against the folded fingers. “I am not mistaken in this,” he ardently insisted. “This is not admiration or fellowship turned to passion. I love you, Elrohir. You are my heart’s desire, the chosen one of my soul. I would fade from grief if you ever ceased to love me.” 

Elrohir’s eyes flashed at the fervor-drenched declaration. He clasped Legolas’s hand tightly in turn. “I could never cease to love you,” he said. “You are in my blood; in my very bones.”

Legolas smiled, warmed and thrilled by the renewed light in the grey eyes. But he sobered quickly when he glanced down at the gold band on his right hand.

“This ring... I was right, wasn’t I?” he whispered haltingly. “You were to give it to your spouse. ‘Tis why you gave it to me... because I was... I am your binding-mate.” 

Elrohir stared at him. “How did you know?” he managed to say.

Legolas colored somewhat. “I deduced it,” he admitted. “I may be naught but a blind and foolish Wood-elf but I do have some wits about me.” He peered at Elrohir wonderingly. “Why did you do it? You could have accompanied your father to Valinor and awaited me there.”

The warrior hesitated. “I would not have long survived in Aman away from you,” he admitted. “Our bond of friendship was all that kept my spirit alive.”

Legolas paled considerably at this confession. “Why did you not tell me? Why did you do it in secret?” he asked.

Elrohir averted his eyes and stared into the dancing flames. “I did not wish for you to bind to me out of pity or duty,” he quietly explained. “And I wanted you to be free if you ever desired to join yourself to another.”

Legolas drew in a harsh breath. Eru! That would have been the death of his Elf-knight! Shuddering at the closeness of it all, he decided to give voice to the implacable yearning that had filled even his waking hours whilst they had been apart. 

To Elrohir’s surprise, he drew the ring from his finger and placed it in the Elf-knight’s hand. “I would return this to you that— that you may give it to me at a more— a more propitious time.” He drew a deep breath. “Elrohir, as you bound yourself to me, I would bind myself to you,” he said in a hushed voice. 

Elrohir stared at him, uncertain if he had heard right. After so many years of waiting...!

“Nothing would make me happier than to be joined with you,” Legolas nearly whispered. “Will you have me?”

Elrohir was rendered mute. Whatever remaining doubts he may have still harbored all but vanished. Boundless joy followed but, for the moment, the jumble of emotions rendered him incapable of any response, much less speech. 

His lack of discernable reaction made Legolas flush and lower his eyes. He was surprised by the warrior’s silence. He’d assumed the other desired to complete their mating but it seemed that was not so. 

“I am sorry,” he murmured. “I thought... That was presumptuous of me.”

His dejected apology snapped Elrohir out of his daze. “Nay, you misunderstand me,” he hurriedly said in a hushed voice. The prince raised his eyes and saw that Elrohir gazed upon him with all tenderness. “I was only so stunned. I have yearned for this for more years than I care to count.” He beamed happily at Legolas. “Aye, I will have you, my golden prince. I will make you mine evermore.”

Legolas’s eyes turned luminous. His mouth spread into a sweet and joyful smile that snatched the very breath from Elrohir’s breast. He soon found it impossible to take in any air at all when the archer hugged him in a crushing embrace with his good arm. Chuckling somewhat breathlessly, he hugged the prince back. 

When Legolas let him go, he slipped the ring on then cocked a curious eye at the prince. “But your father? Might he not object? He tolerated what passed between us before but this is not quite the same thing.”

Legolas shook his head. “The ancient ways have also taken root in Eryn Lasgalen though the growing has been slower than here,” he said. “It will please _Adar_ to know that ‘tis you I have chosen. You have always been as another son to him. Our binding will make that a fact as well.” 

Elrohir laughed softly. “I am glad then,” he said. “I would not like to visit Greenwood under threat of your father’s frightful rage!” 

After a brief bout of laughter, he noticed his Greenleaf had turned rosy with embarrassment. “What is it?” he prompted.

Legolas reddened even more. “I have offered to pledge myself to you,” he said, “without even knowing how the Rites are done.” At Elrohir’s choked back mirth, he glowered and said, “You know ‘tis scarcely performed openly in our realm! All I know is hearsay. I have not witnessed them myself. I suppose it is not quite like a conventional marriage between _ellon_ and _elleth_.”

Elrohir smiled. “It is not,” he agreed. “The Rites are akin to those which bind war-brothers to each other. The sealing of the vows between two of the same kind is not through their progeny but in the mingling of their blood. But gold bands are also exchanged and there is the customary betrothal period of a year—”

“Nay, I do not wish to wait,” Legolas said firmly. 

Elrohir’s eyes widened. “And just how soon do you want the Rites?”

“As soon as I am healed of these wounds, no later.”

“But do you not wish to have your family with you?”

“I would rather have us bound soonest. ‘Tis enough for me that we do this before my people.”

“Why the haste? What is another year?”

“Too long for my liking. As soon as I am healed, Elrohir, not one day later.” When Elrohir stared at him in bemusement, Legolas pointed out: “You are already bound to me. What need is there for a long betrothal?”

“Not for me but for you, Legolas,” Elrohir replied. “Do you not care to observe the custom?”

Legolas shook his head and said: ”I nearly lost you because of my folly, dearest. I will not make that mistake again. The sooner we are bound, the better. Now, what else is needed?” 

Elrohir’s stare softened to a tender gaze. “Well, ‘tis customary to have one’s parents or kin or mayhap a close friend present one to one’s mate-to-be,” he replied.

Legolas nodded. “Elladan can do that for you,” he said. “And Nimeithel will not mind doing the same for me.”

The warrior paused thoughtfully. “I would rather you asked Estel,” he said at length. 

Legolas raised his eyebrow at that. “Why?”

Elrohir replied, “Indulge me in this, Calenlass. It will lay the past to rest to have Estel present you to me.”

The prince understood. “Very well then,” he agreed. “Arwen will also insist on being there,” he added.

The twin snickered. “Aye, we will never hear the end of it if we leave her out of this. But she is very near her time. I shudder to think of her whelping in the middle of everything!” 

Legolas laughed with amusement at the picture the warrior had conjured before smiling at him with glowing affection. Elrohir started at the sight of that smile. He swallowed hard. But he could also see the bindings peeking out from the front of Legolas’s open shirt. Desire strove with concern; threatened to overtake the other.

Deciding to remove himself from the vicinity of temptation, Elrohir made to rise to his feet, muttering, “I had better leave.”

A strong grip on his wrist stayed him. “Do not go,” Legolas softly implored. “I need you, Aduial.”

The twin did not miss the blatant hunger in the archer’s voice. “I need you, too, Legolas,” he managed to say. “But much as I long to...“ He shook his head to clear it of the treacherous waves of passion that sought to drown his common sense. “You are in no condition for us to do this.”

“I will be in worse condition if we do not,” the prince insisted. He raised his hands to cup the other’s face. “Please, _melethron_ , I missed you so much. Do not deny me.” 

Elrohir let out a shaky breath. He had been so used to being the one to seek intimacy that he still found it a matter of astonishment whenever Legolas took the initiative. But it was irresistibly seductive as well. Surrendering to their shared yearning, he leaned forward and caught the prince’s lips in a rapturously covetous kiss. 

Legolas eagerly welcomed the invasion. He elatedly inhaled the twin’s distinctive scent, one he had missed during their separation. 

Despite his numerous and oft protracted absences from Rivendell, Elrohir still retained the evocative scent of his birthplace. It recalled the clean, rushing waters of the Bruinen, fresh breezes and open skies, sun-dappled meadows and the heather and pine upon the slopes that led down into the narrow vale. It had always comforted him and made him feel utterly secure. Now it seduced him, made him weak with wanting.

'And I took it for granted all these years,' Legolas thought. 'I took _him_ for granted. I had to nearly lose him before I realized how precious he is.' He reached for the ties on Elrohir’s shirt; undid them swiftly in his impatience to see, touch, taste the warrior’s skin once more.

They suffered their lips to part only as long as was needed to undress. Still devouring each other’s mouths, they lay upon the furs before the hearth. Conscious of the archer’s wounds, Elrohir was gentleness itself. He softly bade the prince to lie still and allow him to attend to his needs. With deliberate slowness, he moved down the archer’s withy frame – kissing, stroking, sucking, claiming. Succored and enraptured by such tender pleasuring, Legolas scarcely felt any discomfort from his injuries. 

At the height of their coupling, Elrohir, ever mindful of Legolas’s wounds, turned the archer on his uninjured side, slipped behind him and pulled him into the curve of his own body. Taking Legolas thus, he kept his prince free from pain or further injury without sacrificing any of the pleasure of their coupling. 

As their bodies moved together, the twin felt the tremors build within the slender body in his arms, matching the quivering in his own limbs. Reaching around, he stroked the prince until the other was gasping wildly with need. He held the archer snugly against his own form, pressing hungry kisses to the sensitive flesh just behind his ear with each thrust into the lissome form. 

Shaking, perilously close to the end of his endurance, Legolas turned his head, mutely begging Elrohir to claim his lips. He savored the almost bruising force of the warrior’s kiss. And then, they swallowed each other’s groans as blissful release overcame them simultaneously. 

After withdrawing from Legolas, Elrohir waited for his heart to slow down, his breathing to return to normal. Raising himself upon an elbow, he looked down upon the archer and saw he was also awaiting the calm after the storm. He noted that Legolas looked utterly exhausted. Worry crept into his thoughts that they should not have done this when the prince was still recovering from his injuries. He reached for the blanket and pulled it up over both of them. 

Legolas lay back and looked up at the darkling Elf; he saw his concern. “I was loathe to put it off, _mîr nîn_ ”—my treasure—he murmured with a tired but happy smile. 

Elrohir’s anxiety dissipated and he curled an arm around the archer. “You are weary,” he murmured. “Sleep, Calenlass. I will watch over you.” 

He held Legolas protectively against his chest and chastely kissed the golden crown. Feeling the prince’s hand curl possessively over his, the Elvenlord smiled with utmost contentment. 

**********************************  
Glossary:  
Adar - Father  
ellon - male Elf  
elleth - Elf-maid  
melethron – male lover

_To be continued…_


	19. XVIII. Affirmation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned in the Notes at the beginning of this series, I relied primarily on the three main books— _The Silmarillion_ , _The Hobbit_ and LotR. In none of them were any of Faramir’s children named and so I took the liberty of providing my own name for his eldest son and heir. It was only when I decided to do more thorough research on the ruling family of Dol Amroth for a later story that I found out the eldest son had been given a name in PoME. So please bear with me on this matter. In any case, I think my choice was well within the bounds of logic and probability. I hope you agree.

Eryn Gael, Ithilien, _Lothron_ F.A. 22  
The binding Rites did not take place until nearly six weeks later despite Legolas’s protests. Their indulgence, no matter how soothing to the archer’s soul, had exhausted his body and retarded his recovery. Upon his return from the successful strike against the orcs, Elladan, knowing his twin all too well, had immediately discerned the cause of the prince’s slow healing and chided his brother with mingled exasperation and humor. 

“You would think a healer would know better than to tire his patient beyond endurance!” he gibed the younger twin.

Chastened, Elrohir promptly delayed the holding of the ceremony and even moved out of Legolas’s chambers. The prince bore the enforced separation stoically though he chafed at what he considered an unnecessary delay of their binding. But then Elrohir further discomfited him in the days that followed after Elladan departed for Minas Tirith to await Nimeithel’s arrival. It started one evening after they had dinner. 

“I would have you use the time to think over the seriousness of the Rites, _melethron_ ,” Elrohir suggested.

Legolas glanced at him with upraised eyebrows. “What is there to think about?” he queried. “As it is, I deplore this delay. I will soon be hale and more than ready for the ceremony.” 

Elrohir only regarded him speculatively then nodded. After a tender kiss, he retired to his own chamber. Again. It frustrated Legolas immensely though he understood the need for it.

But to his surprise the warrior continued to maintain his distance even after his injuries had completely healed and his strength had been fully restored. His dismay deepened when Elrohir even took to avoiding being alone with him. He remained as doting and loving as ever but he simply refused to be lured back into the archer’s bed.

He did not understand the darkling Elf’s strange evasiveness and since Elrohir would not explain his reasons, the archer was left to try and unravel the mystery by himself. He had to put quite a bit of effort into putting on a cheerful face when Elladan returned a few days later with his wife. 

Unmindful of the small crowd of onlookers that gathered in the clearing to catch a glimpse of their lord’s sister, Nimeithel promptly and happily hugged Legolas then drew Elrohir into an elated embrace. After a merry few minutes of greetings, they entered the archer’s halls. A good thing for Legolas’s dignity considering the conversation that followed. 

“I am so happy for you and Elrohir, _muindoren_ ”—my brother— Nimeithel chirped. “‘Tis about time you finally realized you belong together.” 

“Tell that to Legolas,” Elrohir said with a wry grin. 

Nimeithel giggled. “Forgive him, _gwanur_. He can be so mule-headed about these things. But as you can see, the truth will out in the end.”

Legolas, caught between laughter and a scowl at her irreverence, asked, “What truth?”

His sister beamed at him. “That you loved Elrohir all these years but were too stubborn to admit it.”

Legolas stared at her, startled. “Why do you say that, _thel neth_?”— younger sister. 

“Oh, come now, you were never the same after you first yielded to him,” she replied. 

Elrohir looked from her to Legolas, intrigued, especially when he saw the puzzlement in the latter’s countenance. “How was he not the same?” he questioned Nimeithel.

The princess willingly obliged. “Never again did he bed an Elf-maid with anything more than lust and he certainly did not yearn for any male’s touch; not even the _aran_ Gondor’s at the height of his infatuation with him.”

Legolas nearly choked. “How did you know about that?” he gasped.

“You were so obvious when you returned to Greenwood after the War,” Nimeithel answered blithely. “You talked to me about nothing else but Elessar. You should have heard him, _gwanur_ ,” she addressed Elrohir with a droll roll of her lovely eyes. “I thought he would never stop!” 

“Indeed,” Elrohir dryly said, turning mildly reproachful eyes on his lover. Legolas turned a deep red, whether out of embarrassment or guilt or both only he could say for certain.

Ignoring their byplay, Elladan stared at his wife. “But he loved Estel,” he said. “How could he not desire him?”

Nimeithel chortled and shook her head at her husband. “He _thought_ himself in love,” she corrected. “Did I not say he was mule-headed? Just because Elrohir was free and Aragorn was not, what does he do but turn to the one he deemed unavailable and therefore safe. You are fortunate Elrohir did not give up on you so quickly, _tôr vell_ , else where would you be now?” She giggled at the varied expressions on the others’ faces. 

“This is certainly interesting,” Elladan remarked glancing from his twin to the prince. 

Elrohir, smirking, nodded in agreement. “Aye, this certainly is.” 

Legolas prudently kept silent. 

Nimeithel proved a welcome distraction, her wit and high spirits alleviating her brother’s frustration for a spell. But even that could not last and soon he was back where he started, as much in the dark as ever and striving to keep his sister from noticing it, a mighty feat in its own right. He was at his wits’ end by the time Gondor’s royal family arrived for the ceremony with three befuddled Hobbits in tow.

Samwise Gamgee, now third time mayor of the Shire, along with his dear wife, Mistress Rose, and their pretty daughter, Elanor, had been visiting with his old friend, Strider, when the missive from Eryn Gael was delivered to Gondor’s royal consorts. Naturally, Aragorn and Arwen had invited the Halflings to come along in order to witness the nuptials of Sam’s Elf friend. What they forgot to inform the three of was who it was Legolas would be bound to. 

Therefore, it was with a good deal of shock, astonishment and wonder that the Gamgees learned the identity of the Elven prince’s betrothed. But after the initial surprise they swiftly accustomed themselves to the idea and threw themselves into the settlement-wide merriment with their typical hobbitish zeal for parties and feasts.

The reunion with the royal family threatened to be more awkward. Until this moment, Legolas’s communications with them had been purely through courier-borne letters. Elladan, having been given leave to reveal the whole truth to them, had already done so. Thus the invitation had not been a shock to them. Nevertheless, the memory of uncivil words hung between them and forebode an uneasy first meeting even with the tempering presence of Elladan and Nimeithel.

But Eldarion would have none of it. Hardly had Legolas conducted Sam and his family to their quarters and returned to the main hall where the others awaited when the youth regretfully hugged the archer. There was no need for words between them after that.

Arwen soon replaced her son in the startled Elf’s arms. That she was now huge with child and more than filled his embrace to capacity may have had a little to do with his surprise. Taking Legolas aback by beating him to it, the Queen apologized to her soon-to-be law-brother with all alacrity. 

“I was too harsh with you, _gwador_ ,” she murmured contritely. “All I can say in my defence is that I feared for my brother’s life. Will you forgive me?”

Legolas regarded her gently. “You have ever been fierce when it comes to your family’s welfare,” he said. “I would not have you any other way, Arwen. And you did right to assail me. I did not treat Elrohir as he deserved and for that I must ask you to forgive me.”

Arwen simply hugged him harder. They both glanced up as Aragorn cleared his throat and looked at Legolas quite repentantly.

“I, too, must ask your pardon, _meldiren_ ”—my friend—he said. “After all we went through together during the Quest, I should have realized that you were incapable of hurting Elrohir intentionally. I fear I was too protective of my brother’s heart.”

With apologies flying to and fro, the mood bid fair to turn maudlin. No wonder Elladan thought to take a hand in the proceedings.

“Aye, you have ever been protective of Elrohir, Estel,” he grinned. “But then that is not surprising considering how notoriously attached you were to him in your youth.”

To the others’ surprise, Aragorn turned a bright scarlet and suddenly could not quite look Elrohir in the eye. Eldarion glanced at his Elf-uncle curiously.

“What is wrong with Father?” he asked. 

“Elladan...” Elrohir said warningly though a smirk blunted his biting tone.

Elladan ignored him. “Why, nothing, _pen neth_ ”—young one—he said to Eldarion. “Except... do you recall why I took you whoring in Edoras six summers ago?”

Eladarion colored slightly but nodded. “Aye, ‘twas because Mother did not wish for me to follow the ancient path.”

Arwen smiled and shook her head. “Nay, ‘twas not that I feared you would follow the path, but that once on it you might choose as my brother did. ‘Tis not the way of Men and I did not think it wise for you to ever consider exploring it.” 

Eldarion grinned. “Well, whatever your reasons, _Nana_ , Uncle Elladan certainly took care of it!” 

“As I did for your father,” Elladan announced to the king’s dismay. He chuckled as Aragorn shook his head at him almost frantically. “Only it was not simply the awakening of our duality in him that your Grandfather Elrond feared but an unseemly devotion to Elrohir himself!”

Four sets of eyes stared at him in shock. Then almost simultaneously, Legolas, Arwen and Eldarion snapped their stares at an almost cringing King of Gondor.

“Aragorn!”

“Estel!”

“ _Ada!_ ”

Nimeithel did not quite know what to make of her husband’s revelation. “I cannot believe this,” she gasped. “Elessar was infatuated with Elrohir?!”

Aragorn sputtered at the idea. “‘Twas hero-worship!” he objected. “I was but a lad!”

He started when Arwen stepped in front of him with a menacing glare. “Hero-worship indeed!” she said acidly. “Answer me this, husband. Who was it that really stayed you against Legolas’s charms? I or my brother?”

Another round of shocked reactions figuratively shook the hall. Aragorn stared at his wife as did Legolas.

“You know? How did—?”

Nimeithel tapped her brother’s arm ruefully. “I fear ‘tis my doing,” she admitted. As all eyes turned to her, she shrugged. “Well, I wanted to set things right between you and Arwen so I told her something of your troubles that she might better understand your behavior.” 

Aragorn muttered: “You are indeed Elladan’s wife.”

Arwen’s expression grew even more suspicious. “I am awaiting an answer, Estel,” she reminded him. 

Faced with a patently displeased wife, Aragorn blurted out unthinkingly: “Arwen, do not be absurd. I simply did not feel for Legolas as he did for me.” 

Legolas suddenly bristled. “Let me make one thing clear before this ridiculous situation worsens,” he growled. He addressed Arwen. “Idiot that I was, I mistook certain feelings for more than they really were. But now I can and shall say this. I do not love Aragorn in _that_ way nor did I once or ever will.” 

He turned to Aragorn and of a sudden jabbed an accusing finger into the thoroughly flustered monarch’s chest. “And I would know your answer to Arwen’s question before I ever leave Elrohir alone with you again for any length of time!”

The sight of his masterful sire retreating before his mother and the archer was too much for Eldarion to bear. The Crown Prince of Gondor whooped with laughter and began to shake so violently that Nimeithel had to steady him. His mirth grew even heartier as he listened to his father stumble and blunder through a series of explanations and protestations to his queen and erstwhile quest-companion respectively.

Elrohir rolled his eyes then glanced at his twin. A fond smile curved his lips.

“Thank you, _gwaniuar_ ”—older twin—he chuckled.

Elladan snickered back. “You’re very welcome, _gwanneth_.”—younger twin.

It was fortunate for Aragorn that another party arrived within the day.

Legolas had also taken care to invite Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, his wife, Éowyn, and their son and heir, Boromir. Faramir was, after all, his direct overlord and courtesy required that Legolas inform him at the very least. But the Steward of Gondor was also a good friend and close ally and that alone would have prompted the invitation. 

As to what Éowyn and Boromir would make of the binding of male and male spirit, he trusted the learned steward-prince to elucidate the matter to them. The only caveat in the missive he’d sent to Emyn Arnen was that the occasion be kept a secret from the rest of Gondor. Legolas was not about to set Elessar’s more hostile nobles against himself by having it known he’d taken the king’s foster-brother as his spouse. As he put it in the letter to Faramir, most Men simply did not understand many elven customs, least of all one that was deemed unnatural by them. 

Last to show up was a patently smug Gimli whose first words to his friend after the usual greetings bewildered everyone else.

“Legolas,” Aragorn said with a furrowed brow. “Why did Gimli shout 'In a pig’s' eye at you?”

A rosy-faced Legolas was perforce compelled to recount to the whole group what he and the Dwarf had argued about in Rohan more than two decades ago. It certainly provided a most lively discussion at the evening meal much to his discomfiture and Gimli’s glee. He was greatly relieved when the women turned the talk to the upcoming festivities. 

The colony was in a state of anticipation. There was great joy and excitement at the imminent joining of the two Elvenlords, one a prince of the Silvan Elves of the Woodland Realm, the other twin Lord of Imladris and scion of the former rulers of the Galadhrim of Lothlórien. The folk of the Glimmering Wood understandably rejoiced at this binding of two such noble houses.

But Legolas could not quite share in the gaiety. Not when his betrothed seemed lacking in enthusiasm about the upcoming nuptials. He’d thought that things would go back to normal with the arrival of family and friends for Elrohir had remained by his side throughout. But as soon as everyone settled in he reverted to his previous evasive behavior. And with guests everywhere, it became even more difficult for the archer to pin his lover down. It just about drove Legolas into fits of melancholy and exasperation. 

He was quite sunk in one such fit when Arwen inadvertently brought things to a head.

Dispirited by Elrohir’s behavior, he made his way to the glade that was his sanctuary. By the soothing gurgle of the spring and its waterfall, he hoped to balm his ruffled feelings. So it was with surprise and some resentment when he caught sight of Elrohir strolling nearby with Arwen, so deep in discussion with her that he did not sense the archer’s presence.

He pursed his mouth disapprovingly. He’d always considered the glade a secret place, a private refuge to be shared only with the Elf-warrior. What had possessed Elrohir to bring his sister here? He watched as the twin soon walked away, leaving the Queen seated upon a fallen tree. He wondered where Elrohir was going and why he had left his so-very pregnant sibling behind. 

A moment later, Arwen espied him and smilingly beckoned to him. Caught, he could only accede to her friendly summons. 

“Are you comfortable, _gwathel_?” he asked as he neared her.

“Well enough,” she replied.

He eyed her alarmingly wide girth. “You are all but ready to burst,” he said with a grin. “Indeed, we feared you would not be able to travel here.”

Arwen dimpled. “I would not miss this for all the _mithril_ in Moria,” she said. She sighed and adjusted her position, instinctively rubbing her swollen belly with her hand. “Ah, may this little one wait a little longer. I do not wish to birth in front of all Eryn Gael!” 

Worried, Legolas looked about for her brother. Elbereth forbid that the Queen should whelp _here_ without anyone to assist her save for a Wood-elf ignorant of such matters.

“Why did Elrohir leave you here?” he queried. 

Arwen’s smile faded somewhat. “To think on what we were discussing,” she replied.

“A discussion that looked quite ponderous from where I was standing,” Legolas commented. 

The Queen looked up at him thoughtfully. “You were an intrinsic part of it,” she softly admitted. “Elrohir seeks to ascertain your feelings regarding your binding-to-be.”

“My feelings?” Legolas perplexedly echoed,

“Aye. He wishes to ascertain just how deep your feelings run before you take this irrevocable step.”

“I do not understand.” Legolas frowned. “Does he doubt my sincerity?”

“Nay, not your sincerity but your... commitment to this course.” Arwen noted his startled reaction. She pressed on gingerly. “Just seven months past, you declared yourself incapable of returning his love; of cleaving your heart to his. Now you would be his binding-mate for all eternity.” The Queen hesitated upon seeing the prince’s wary expression. “The meat of the matter is this,” she said at length. “Are you certain of your feelings about this? It would be a tragedy should they change after you have taken vows. There is no breaking such a bond in Arda.”

Indignant words itched to escape Legolas’s lips but he was so taken aback by his discovery that his voice failed him. Before he could break the strained silence, it was broken for him.

“Aye, I would know if there is any doubt in your heart, Calenlass.”

The prince turned sharply to face Elrohir. He’d been so disconcerted by Arwen’s words that he had failed to notice the other’s return. He peered at the twin, searching his impassive countenance. Suspicion flared up within him. 

“You _do_ doubt me,” Legolas hissed, hurt springing to his eyes. “You think me inconstant, unworthy of your trust.”

“Legolas—”

“Do you wish to call off the Rites, Elrohir?”

Elrohir stared at him. “What makes you think that?” 

The archer trembled visibly. “You delayed them beyond the time I had desired. And then you forsook my company pleading my wounds as your excuse. But even when I had healed, you still shunned my—” He stopped abruptly, blushing as he recalled Arwen’s presence. With a frustrated groan he turned away, clenching his fists at his sides.

Arwen rose from her perch as swiftly as her advanced condition allowed her. “I think I had best leave you two to settle this matter,” she murmured. At Legolas’s concerned backward glance, she added, “Do not worry, _gwador_. I am not yet so far gone as not to be able to manage the short walk back to your halls.”

As soon as she departed, Elrohir placed soothing hands on the archer’s tense shoulders. “You misunderstand my intentions, Legolas.”

“Then why your distance?” the archer asked dolorously. “Why did you stay away?”

“I wanted to give you time and space to reconsider.”

“Reconsider what?”

“Your decision to commit yourself to me.”

“You suggested this before but I did not realize...” Legolas spun around, his eyes wide with pain and confusion. “You do not trust me,” he whispered. “You think me capable of breaking even the most sacred of vows.”

“Nay, I know you would never break a vow no matter how onerous it could come to be,” Elrohir demurred. “And for that reason I would not have you make them at all rather than have you repent of them after. But trust you I do, with my life if need be.”

“Then why do you question my heart?”

“Because you are newly come to love. I have known my heart for centuries uncounted. You owned it ere you ever wanted it. But you have only opened yourself to me this past year. I do not want you trapped for all time by dint of a rash decision.”

“‘Tis no rash decision,” Legolas chokingly said. “I spent a half-year thinking of nothing else. I may not have known my heart for long but I know it well. I want this, Elrohir. I want to join my life to yours.”

Elrohir was tempted to take him at his word that very instant. Nonetheless, he pressed on with his benign inquisition. The afternoon was wearing on and he had to be sure that they were doing the right thing.

“Are you absolutely certain of this?” he softly queried. “‘Tis eternity we speak of. Should you regret your choice, there will be no turning back. I would not have you burdened by a joining you can never escape.”

“It would be a greater burden to be denied eternity with you. I cannot conceive of life without you. Why do you question me so, Aduial?” Fear leapt into his eyes as a new idea arose to plague him. “Is it that _you_ no longer desire this?” he gasped. “Do you regret that you bound yourself to me?” 

Elrohir was caught unawares by the allegation. “Nay! I have never regretted that!” he exclaimed when he found his tongue. “If I do this ‘tis not because I do not want you but because I wish to protect you.”

“By breaking my heart?” 

The crystalline eyes gleamed with suspicious brightness. With a pang, Elrohir realized the archer was close to tears and manfully holding them back. Stricken with remorse at reducing the proud prince to such a state, he pulled him into a tight embrace, burying his face in the golden mane.

“Forgive me, Legolas,” he whispered at length, drawing slightly away. “‘Twas never my intention to hurt you. In truth, had I my wits about me when you first broached this matter, I would have urged you to think on it. I only want what is right for both of us.” He felt the lean form stiffen in his arms and hastened to add, “If you are certain of your choice, if you would truly join your heart to mine, then we shall bind to each other this day.”

Legolas took a deep breath. His eyes blazed with conviction as he said, “I am certain of my choice, Elrohir. I would pledge my heart to you now and for all eternity.”

Elrohir caught his breath. The words were as close as could be to the actual vows spoken during the Rites. There was no doubting Legolas’s commitment to him. He drew the prince back into his arms. “So be it,” he quietly declared.

For a few minutes, they stayed thus, savoring their renewed closeness. But the archer could not remain relaxed for long. 

“Why did you not tell me of your concerns?” Legolas asked vexedly against the twin’s shoulder. “You only spoke of it that once and I thought it of no great import to you.”

Elrohir sighed. “You can be as single-minded as a Hobbit with a barrel of beer. You would never have agreed to think your decision over once you had made it.”

Legolas pulled away, indignation in his countenance once more. “There was no need!” 

“That is exactly what I knew you would say,” Elrohir commented wryly. “‘Tis why I did not press you after the first time I broached the subject. The more I suggested it, the more you would have resisted. But I also knew you would think on it on your own once I introduced the idea to you.”

“Aye, I did wonder about it though I did not change my mind in the least,” Legolas conceded. “But why did you stay away from me?” he demanded. “You knew I wanted you.”

“I did not want you to weaken my resolve in turn,” the Elf-warrior admitted. “One touch from you is enough to addle my brain, Legolas. I would have ended up influencing you into a decision of my own liking.”

Legolas let out an exasperated breath. “The workings of your mind are more tortuous than Mithrandir’s at his worst!” he chided. “And what of Arwen?” he queried tartly. “What did she tell you that made you go off by yourself? Was she trying to dissuade you?”

“Far from it,” Elrohir demurred. “On the contrary, she tried to make me see my folly.”

“Your folly?” 

“Aye. She pointed out to me that had you entertained second thoughts you would have let me know by now.”

Legolas’s eyes narrowed ominously making the Elf-knight suddenly uneasy.

“How ironic,” the archer remarked acerbically, “that your sister, who once thought I should be strung from the highest tree for denying you, now seems to trust me more than you do.”

Elrohir winced at the accusatory tone. “I suppose I deserve that,” he murmured ruefully. He reached out a supplicating hand. “I am sorry.” When Legolas did not respond, he let his hand drop resignedly. “Are you certain you still wish to bind yourself to me?” he asked meekly.

The blue eyes flashed. “Let us not start _that_ again!” Legolas growled. 

He pulled the warrior into a near-backbreaking embrace and proceeded to kiss him senseless. Before long, his ardor was such that they were both shaking with want and might have succumbed to the rampant need to couple in that instant had Elrohir not recalled the reason for their argument in the first place.

With much regret, he broke the kiss, doing his best to ignore Legolas’s annoyed reaction. “The Rites begin at sundown, _ind nîn_ ”—my heart— he gently reminded the prince while insistently pulling him along. “We need to prepare ourselves.” When the mutinous expression on the other’s face did not quite fade away, he grinned cheekily and pointed out, “I would not have us tardy due to something we shall have ample time to indulge in _after_ the ceremony.” 

Legolas’s eyes glittered menacingly. “Then you should have ample opportunity to make amends for what you put me through!” he retorted.

“Calenlass, believe me when I say that is one duty I am looking forward to fulfilling,” the twin chuckled salaciously.

At that, Legolas’s mulish mood abruptly suffered a sea change. It was a fortunate thing (or regrettable depending on one’s point of view) that Gimli and Sam came strolling into view at that moment else the prince would have pounced on his Elf-knight right there and then. That would have delayed the ceremony beyond reason as well as rendered Dwarf and Hobbit crimson beyond recognition.

************************************  
Glossary:  
Lothron – Sindarin for May  
gwanur – ‘brother’ or ‘sister’ but a more accurate translation would be kinsman or kinswoman  
aran Gondor – King of Gondor  
tôr vell – dear brother  
gwador – sworn brother  
Ada – Papa  
Nana – Mama  
gwathel – sworn sister

_To be continued…_


	20. XIX. Heart's Pledge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The blood Rite described in this chapter is by no means part of canon and is purely my invention as is the effect it has on Elves. But blood pacts were performed in olden times between would-be allies to seal their vows of allegiance to each other. Another custom, the ritual bedding of newlyweds, was practiced in England and some European cultures in the early centuries of the last millennium. I simply borrowed both traditions and used them for my own purposes.

The Elves gathered in the great clearing where they had held the victory bonfire less than a year ago. As was the custom of their kindred, the binding Rites would be held under the stars with all the Powers of Arda as witnesses to the nuptial vows. The sweetest, most lyrical songs wafted in the twilight breeze as they celebrated this latest, more joyous occasion. 

Eldarion and Boromir looked about them with interest. The two were fairly close in age and had quickly become friends upon their first meeting years ago. As such, they were seated together, commenting on the proceedings. Though the entire colony seemed to be present, there was an intimacy and simplicity to the event, which was what Elrohir and Legolas desired. Yet the atmosphere was no less solemn or enchanting for the lack of grandeur or courtly trappings. Even the Elflings were hushed and respectful, seeming to understand the significance of what was about to occur. 

Legolas slipped quietly into their midst with Aragorn at his side. There was a collective drawing of breaths when he appeared. He was resplendent in a snowy white over-tunic, which opened nearly to his waist revealing the high-collared silken white shirt beneath. The intricate yet delicate embroidery on the garment was done in muted gold purl recalling the beech trees and wildflowers of Greenwood. His belt was a gold chain in the likeness of overlapping leaves. A simple woven gold circlet crowned his fair head. But his long breeches and soft boots matched the whiteness of his clothing. 

A golden prince indeed, Arwen thought approvingly. She sat comfortably between Gimli and Nimeithel. Across the small space wherein the Rites would take place were Faramir and Éowyn. They exchanged delighted smiles with her. They had never yet witnessed an elven nuptial ceremony let alone one between two _ellyn_ though Faramir, ever Gandalf’s able student, had read about them. 

It did not take long for Elrohir to make his appearance. With Elladan at his side, he came up the short path between the gathered Elves and made his way to Legolas. Like the archer before him, the younger prince of Imladris was breathtaking to behold. If Legolas was glimmering gold, he was shining silver and crystal. 

He was clad in a pristine ceremonial tunic very much like the fair archer’s but a jeweled belt encircled his waist, tiny diamonds alternating with miniature sapphires along its length, the only hint of another color in his attire. Crystalline stars adorned the white raiment against skillfully wrought clouds of silver purl, mirroring the _elenath_ —the starry host—in the firmament above. The shirt beneath was white and unadorned save for the silver edging on the high collar and sleeve cuffs. His breeches and boots were also white but upon his raven head was the pure _mithril_ circlet he’d worn on the day of Eldarion’s betrothal. 

There were no elaborate rituals, no prolonged speeches and the like. In low, reverent voices, the two betrothed called upon Iluvatar, the All-Father, and the mighty Valar to bear witness to their union and invoked their blessings upon it. Responding to some sign only the Firstborn could perceive, Elladan signed to Aragorn to take Legolas’s right hand and offer it to Elrohir even as he did likewise with his brother. Hands raised and clasped between them in the manner of sworn war-brothers, the two lovers then recited their vows, their eyes locked in solemn devotion, Elrohir renewing his pledge, Legolas making his for the first time. 

Silence fell as they softly and tenderly voiced the ancient covenant of bound Elves, promising their hearts and spirits to each other for all eternity. Rapt wonder reigned and the stars shone ever brighter as they exchanged the gold bands of their binding, Elrohir slipping the exquisite heirloom ring of the House of Elrond down Legolas’s right index finger. In turn, Legolas presented him with a band of intertwined leaves of gold and _mithril_ with a single emerald of astonishing color and clarity.

Intuitively, Elrohir knew the ring was of dwarven make and he sought Gimli’s gaze. The grin the Dwarf cast him confirmed his supposition and he smiled in return.

"'Tis beautiful, Calenlass,” he murmured as Legolas slipped it onto his finger. But he thought the prince’s smile of pleasure more precious than any treasure in Arda.

The lingering kiss they shared afterwards was the first they’d ever done in public. So tender and affectionate was it that not even the guests with no previous exposure to same-kind pairings could find anything abhorrent in it. Indeed, Éowyn was seen to brush happy tears from her eyes while the Hobbits smiled indulgently at this display of profound love.

The feast following the Rites was less restrained. Music and laughter filled the air, food and drink flowed generously and gaiety was the rule. 

Sam would never know how he and his wife and daughter came to be dancing a woodland jig with Elladan and several other Elves; he only knew he would forever treasure Gimli’s indescribable expression at being pressed into joining the same dance. Meanwhile, Eldarion and Boromir found themselves trying to outdo several Galadhrim in a drinking competition and were only kept from getting disgracefully inebriated by the sudden intervention of their respective fathers. 

Content to remain at one of the long dining tables with the women, the newly bound pair none-too-patiently waited out the festivities. Even when the others rejoined them, it was clear they were aching to be elsewhere. 

The King grinned at their patently desirous glances at each other and murmured something to Gimli and Faramir about the shameful lustfulness of Elves. To which the Dwarf, still red from embarrassment due to his questionable performance in the jig, testily said, “And they are far too gamesome as well. Why I ever allowed myself to be cornered by a passel of confounded Elves is beyond me!” 

On the verge of reprimanding Aragorn for his cheeky observation, Legolas was suddenly distracted by the large bowl of plump berries and a low jug of cream an Elf set before them. He glanced from the mirthful monarch to Elrohir who was chatting with Éowyn. With a small smile, he took a berry and carefully dipped it in the cream. A light touch on the Elf-knight’s arm drew the latter’s attention. 

Elrohir started when he found a luscious berry glistening with cream close to his lips but he obediently parted his lips at Legolas’s silent behest. The berry was gently tipped into his mouth, followed by a fingertip wiping a smidgen of cream from his lips. He watched in fascination as Legolas sucked that smidgen from his finger, his eyes never leaving the Elf-rider. Chewing the piece of fruit slowly, Elrohir curiously regarded his mate. 

Legolas fed Elrohir more berries, each time deliberately smearing a bit of cream on the twin’s lips, which he wiped off with his finger and then sucked clean. It dawned on Elrohir that the prince was making amends for the incident the year before when he had unfairly chided the warrior for feeding him before Aragorn. His twilight eyes darkened thoughtfully. 

Caught up in their intimate diversion, neither Elf noticed that the conversation had died down around them or that those at their table had paused to watch the two indulge in what was for all intents and purposes a subtle form of love-play. 

When Legolas fed him a fourth berry, Elrohir caught the archer by the wrist and drew the latter’s fingers into his mouth. Under the prince’s wide-eyed gaze, he purposefully divested the trapped fingers of every bit of berry juice and cream. Legolas hissed when the barely repressed pooled warmth in his groin turned into active molten heat. He just knew that were it not for the table, no one would be able to ignore the needful state of his body. 

Arwen could not suppress the happy smile that graced her lovely face. Nevertheless, judging from the popeyed stares of Gimli and the Hobbits, the surreptitious glances Eldarion and Boromir exchanged, and the raised eyebrows of Faramir and Éowyn, it was time to bring the temperature down a little. She coughed ostentatiously to snare their attention.

The two glanced up in surprise. Only then did they realize that they’d become the center of everyone’s regard. Seldom unnerved by such instances, Elrohir managed a charming scapegrace smile but Legolas, always the more reserved in these matters, blushed deeply much to his friends’ amusement. 

“I think ‘tis time this pair finished the Rites,” Elladan chuckled. “I have no desire to watch my twin take our golden prince upon this table.” 

This time Elrohir scowled, affected when it was his irrepressible twin who teased him. 

Aragorn laughed. “Aye, _gwanur_ , you are right. To bed, both of you!”

“But not to sleep!” Sam added daringly, much to his wife’s shock.

Tempted to retort, Legolas realized that this was just what he wanted. Returning the Hobbit’s playful smile, he rose, pulling Elrohir to his feet. “Indeed, let us make haste,” he said with an uncharacteristic lack of constraint. “Before we scandalize all the _pin nith_.”—young ones. 

Neither Faramir nor Sam declined the invitation to their families to witness the completion of the Rites. Quietly slipping away from the revelry, the group walked back to the Elven prince’s halls. There they proceeded to Legolas’s bedchamber, which he would share with Elrohir from this day forth. A small fire crackled softly in the hearth, prepared by the prince’s faithful servants.

The newly-bound Elves were stripped of their tunics, shirts, belts and shoes, their circlets removed and hair unbound and unplaited, leaving them clothed in naught but their breeches. Elladan and Eldarion did the honors for Elrohir while Aragorn and Nimeithel did their part for Legolas. 

It struck Éowyn that had only Elves been present, both princes would have been totally disrobed. Watching in fascination, she commented to her family and the Hobbits on this fact and wondered at its similarity to the bedding ritual of newlyweds in Rohan wherein bride and groom were also unclothed before close kin as a gesture of good faith between their two families that there was nothing physically wrong with either spouse. Arwen overheard her. 

“But the reasons behind the two traditions are very different,” she softly informed them. “They will seal their vows through their blood as they cannot do so through children. Therefore the blood Rite necessitates that they shed most if not all of their clothing for once they join hands they will not part them until the ritual is complete.”

For a moment, they all stared at her in perplexity. And then Faramir nodded in comprehension. “They must couple to complete the ritual,” he murmured. Arwen nodded smilingly at him.

Meanwhile, Elladan made his way to the hearth. He unsheathed the _mithril_ -hilted _sigil_ at his belt and, kneeling, held the blade in the flame to symbolically purify it. Glancing at Elrohir, he smiled at the joy he saw in his twin’s eyes. He found himself wishing this part of the night would soon be over that he and Nimeithel might retire to their own chamber. The amused glint in his brother’s eyes told him that his thoughts had been read and he turned his gaze back to the fire, his cheeks coloring a little. 

When its blade was cleansed, he rose and silently handed the knife to his brother. Elrohir took it, ignoring the heat that travelled from blade to hilt. As he held the tip of the blade to his right palm, he heard the women’s soft intake of breath. He glanced up and noted their wide-eyes stares. He smiled at them reassuringly before continuing with the Rite. 

He drew the blade diagonally across his palm, barely grimacing at the sting of heat and sharp steel on his flesh. The bright blood welled up from the wound. He passed the knife to Legolas. Unhesitatingly, the archer repeated the motion on his left hand, his slash a match to his binding-mate’s. He returned the knife to Elladan. 

The two Elves raised and clasped their hands, fingers intertwining, wounds meeting in bloody harmony. Elrohir caught Legolas’s gaze and held it. 

After a few seconds, a soft silvery glow began to emanate from their clasped hands as their inner elven fires burned more brightly than normal. While the others watched raptly, the diffused light spread out slowly, covering their joined arms, then their torsos, and slowly snaking its way down their slender frames. It was a wondrous sight to behold even for Elladan and Arwen who alone of the company other than Elrohir, had actually witnessed this part of the binding Rites between same-kind Elves before. 

Legolas let his breath out, the sting of his wound dissipating slightly with the coming of the silvery light. He stared in awe at his mate’s appearance, his beauty increased threefold, bathed as he was in that soft incandescence. He became aware of Elrohir’s own appreciative gaze, realized he, too, glowed with the unearthly light. He was distracted, however, when he felt something pass between their palms. Something indefinable, a tingle followed by a slight pull and then a surging push. As if he had taken something from Elrohir and given something in turn. 

He heard something in his head. Two pounding beats, faint but growing stronger by the moment. The beats were separate but they seemed to be chasing each other, he was not sure which was which. It came to him that he could hear their heartbeats and that the two were moving to become one as they grew louder and stronger. 

The pain in his hand had diminished to a faint throb. He could only hear the paired beats now so close to each other that they were almost... one. He drew in his breath as the pounding drowned out all other sounds and again the sensation of push and pull between their palms, stronger this time, as if their very blood was mingling and being drawn into the other. Soon there was nothing but that single, united heartbeat, the intense tug and surge, the irresistible sensation of owning and being owned. 

Legolas could not help feeling some fear and quickly sought assurance in his binding-mate. He anchored himself on the tenderness within the silvered eyes that stared back at him. They had darkened almost to black, their focus upon him undimmed. He realized that Elrohir, too, felt the indescribable connection between them. 

After what seemed like ages, the push and pull between their cut palms seemed to lessen. By now they were fully enveloped in the silvery light, looking utterly otherworldly. Elrohir flicked his eyes to his brother for the barest of moments. 

Elladan looked at the others and saw that they were enthralled by what they had witnessed this night. They started when he tapped their arms and gestured that it was time to leave. With a last amazed glance at the bound couple, they followed Elladan out of the chamber. 

All but oblivious of their departure, Legolas became aware of another part of his being now intent on claiming his full attention. The need to be in complete union with the other on every level was irresistible. The tug was so strong and compelling he knew did not have the strength to resist it. Before long, the push and pull between their palms began to grow again as his body now demanded its own binding.

_I cannot wait! I need to have you now!_

His thoughts flew to the other. The twilight eyes glittered in response.

_Then have me!_

Almost desperately, Legolas pulled Elrohir to the bed and bore him down upon it, mouth seeking the other’s in a searing kiss. Their remaining garments were swiftly discarded without their hands ever parting. And then they began a duel that left them both gasping for breath and sentience. 

Long after they would remember the sights and sounds of that physical binding. Of sable hair mingling with gold, long limbs entwining and taut muscles straining with and against each other and always the primitive music of ragged breaths, unrestrained moans and gasping cries playing sweetly yet heatedly without cease. And throughout their cut hands clasped tightly, the flow of their blood into each other’s veins heightening each and every delicious sensation.

Near the peak of their coupling, Elrohir gazed down upon Legolas as the fair-haired Elf lay beneath him. The prince clearly expected the warrior to take him as evinced by his submissive posture. Only once before had he reversed their roles.

Elrohir recalled Legolas’s delight upon discovering that he was the one lover ever to take him. His eyes had gleamed with deep pleasure at the unexpected gift of the twin’s first surrender. What Elrohir would give to see that particular light in the prince’s eyes again.

He smiled rakishly down at Legolas, relishing the sweet puzzled look that crept into the archer’s eyes. Holding the other’s gaze, he straddled his mate then levered himself into a position that would permit the latter to breach him.

Legolas’s eyes widened. “Aduial, what—?”

“You wanted to have me,” Elrohir whispered. “I am granting your desire.” 

He lowered himself upon the prince, keeping himself relaxed to ease their joining.

Legolas gasped as he was sheathed to the hilt. Sensation surged through his nerves and he bucked upward involuntarily. He stared at the twin. Elrohir simply bent over and kissed him gently. Legolas sighed against his lips.

The prince knew his Elf-knight’s pride all too well but he had not thought it would extend to the pleasures of the flesh. When he had dared to take the twin that night in Minas Tirith, he’d been elated to find that Elrohir had never allowed anyone else to dominate him. It had been a matchless gift to be that first, that only one whom the warrior trusted so much that he would yield himself. Now Elrohir was offering him his complete trust once more. It filled Legolas’s heart with immeasurable joy.

His breath caught as Elrohir began to move rhythmically above him, repeatedly taking him into the velvet heat of his flesh, urging him to thrust upward in time with his movements. He stared up at the shining Elf-knight. The prince eyed his new spouse with ever increasing affection and lust. 

“You are always full of surprises,” he said gaspingly as the sensations intensified.

Elrohir smiled. “I should hope so. I would not want you to tire of me.”

Legolas gazed at him, his eyes glowing with the light Elrohir had sought to educe with his submission. Of a sudden, the prince reached out with his free hand and grasped his back. With a supple twist of their conjoined bodies, he had the warrior beneath him. 

He smiled in turn at the twin, enjoying the sight of the other’s raven locks spilling wantonly upon the pristine sheets. “I could never tire of you, Elrohir,” he murmured. “You are my life, my very soul. I want you as I’ve never wanted anyone else. I will always need you.”

Elrohir’s breath hitched at the open declaration of desire and devotion. “Have me then, Calenlass,” he whispered. “Make me yours.” 

Legolas complied with all alacrity. They moved in perfect synchrony, as if nature had intended them for each other alone. Oblivious of everything but the sound of their wildly beating hearts, the sensual rhythm of their rocking hips, the singeing heat of their deep kisses, they loved each other with total abandon. 

Legolas felt it again. That wondrous sensing when Elrohir approached his peak. But no longer was it a faint echo but a soaring melody that sang through his very veins, resonated through his mind and heart and spirit with more power and majesty than the triumphant chorus of a hundred-strong Elven choir. He shuddered in ecstasy as the Elf-knight’s rapture continued to spiral and swell and blossom even as he became aware that his feelings, his pleasure, his body’s race toward completion was also reverberating through Elrohir’s tall frame. His Twilight’s countenance betrayed myriad emotions—profound wonder, utter bliss, the welcome loss of control, but most of all the euphoria of experiencing his _and_ his mate’s climax. It was an incomparable feeling. 

They reached the summit of their joining together, moaning each other’s names, wholly engrossed in the beauty and pleasure of the other. This is what it feels like when the loving is shared, Legolas dazedly thought. So strong, so deep, so joyful. 

Drained, they suffered to part their bodies reluctantly. Only then did the shining glow about their forms gradually dissipate though a trace of it would remain upon them until morning’s first light. Legolas lay his golden head on Elrohir’s chest, pleased to feel his lover’s smooth flesh beneath his cheek, delighting in his unique scent. 

After a space, he lifted his eyes to the Elf-knight, resting his chin on the latter’s breast. “This sharing of pleasure,” he whispered. “What is it?”

Elrohir softly replied, “‘Tis a grace unique to bound Elves. With our spirits joined a channel opens up between us that allows our feelings and even thoughts to flow freely between us in times of intense emotion or passion.”

Legolas peered at him wonderingly. “Then ‘tis because you bound yourself to me that I could feel your pleasure though you could not feel mine?” he half asked. 

“‘Twas not a full binding,” Elrohir said. “You did not know of it and while the connection was there it only flowed from me to you. Your spirit had not yet joined with mine. Nor had your consent or mine been confirmed by the blood Rite.”

“Yet you heard me in your thoughts when I was in peril. Twice.”

Elrohir sighed. “That was unlooked for,” he admitted. “Even Elladan did not know what to make of it. But then, neither of us really knew what to expect. There has not been another one-sided binding in elven history.”

Legolas stared at him. “None? You were the first?”

“And most likely the last,” Elrohir smiled wanly.

The prince shook his head in amazement then looked at him once more. “What of marriage between Elf and Elf-maid?” he asked curiously. “There is no Rite to confirm their vows.”

“But the pledge to beget children triggers this same grace,” Elrohir explained. “And upon the first conception of a child, it strengthens to its fullest.”

“Then Nimeithel and Elladan have not yet reached their— their peak?” 

At Elrohir’s nod, he asked, “Is it always thus? So powerful, so... overwhelming. I did not always feel it when we coupled before.”

The warrior shook his head. “It is always present but not always strong enough to be felt. We can control the intensity of it in the same way that we control our passions or our ability to probe other minds. You need only train yourself as you have in all other skills.”

Legolas considered this with some awe. “It seems there is much I do not know,” he remarked ruefully. “I willfully ignored such lessons, convinced as I was that I would never have need of them. You will have to instruct me in the ways of matrimony, Aduial.” 

Elrohir grinned. It was then that he recalled their wounds. He held up their clasped hands and said, “Look.” 

He let go of Legolas’s hand. The golden Elf drew in his breath in wonder. Their wounds were healed and all traces of blood upon their skin had disappeared. Not even scars remained. Only the few stains on the sheets bore testimony that they had indeed shed blood earlier. 

“We are fully bound, _bereth nîn_ ”—my spouse—Elrohir softly said.

Legolas sighed happily. “Then my dearest wish has indeed been granted,” he murmured thickly. 

Slumber insistently reared its beckoning head as it always did when they coupled so vigorously. Just as he was beginning to fall asleep, he suddenly remembered an earlier source of umbrage. He lifted his head to glare mildly at Elrohir. “By the way, why did you bring Arwen to the spring?” he asked a little tartly. “‘Tis supposed to be our secret refuge.”

Elrohir shook his head. “I did not bring her there,” he said. “She followed me when I sought to be alone with my thoughts, hoping to be of help to me. I would never wittingly reveal a place you hold so dear.”

Legolas relaxed, feeling relieved and reassured. “I am glad,” he said. “‘Tis a place I have shared with no one but you, my Elf-knight. I do not desire a sudden intrusion when we may most need our privacy.” 

Elrohir’s lips twitched humorously at the prince’s insinuation. “Ah, Legolas, ‘tis hard to believe you the same Elf I despaired of ever capturing,” he remarked. His expression turned thoughtful.

“What is it?” Legolas asked.

Elrohir smiled a little pensively. “I suddenly remembered Rohan, when we met again before seeking the Paths of the Dead with the Dúnedain.” He gazed somberly at the prince. “I was elated to see you, relieved to find you unharmed and glad to know I could protect you in the days to come. And I had thought to tell you how I felt before we faced the darkness of Mordor.”

“Why didn’t you?” Legolas queried curiously, nuzzling his neck.

“I saw how you regarded Estel. I knew your feelings about him had changed. How could I tell you of my love when you had apparently bestowed yours elsewhere?”

Legolas went still, raised his head and stared at his spouse. “You knew that— even then?” he faltered. “I thought ‘twas only Nimeithel who—”

“Who noted your regard for him then? Nay, I knew it when we spoke together at the Hornburg.” At Legolas’s look of disbelief, Elrohir said, “How could I not have known your heart? You whom I counted as dear to me as Elladan.” 

At his words, a shadow passed over the fair-haired archer’s features. “And you bore this burden all these years. Silently. Valiantly,” he said with a catch in his voice. “I once told you that only a fool would let someone like you slip through his fingers yet, like that fool, I nearly did. Arwen was right and I so wrong.” He suddenly wrapped his arm tightly around the Elf-knight. Closing his eyes, he pressed his face against the other’s shoulder. 

“Legolas, what are you talking about?” Elrohir asked frowningly.

“For so long did I turn a blind eye to what you offered me and shied from your love when you gifted me with it. And then compounded my sin when I judged you wanting,” the archer said with a shudder. “Yet you had already proved how much stronger you are than anyone I have ever known. Where others would have long faded, you did not succumb until...“ He swallowed painfully. “...until I betrayed your trust and treated you so shamefully. Forgive me, my Elrohir,” he whispered remorsefully. “You did not deserve what I did to you.” 

Elrohir was taken aback by the hushed apology on top of the regret-stricken recitation. He had not intended that Legolas should feel guilty about that matter now of all times. But with the plea for forgiveness uttered, there was no recourse but to answer it. 

“I knew the risks when I loved you,” he softly replied. “Do not apologize for being yourself. I never expected you to change for anyone." 

Legolas opened his eyes and looked up at him. The sapphire pools were limpid with contrition. 

“But you were not just _anyone_ ,” he almost moaned. “You were my dearest friend, my pledged brother; yet I did not let that stop me from denying you. I hurt you, demeaned your strength and courage, drove you needlessly to despair, forsook you when you needed me most,” he berated himself. “That was inexcusable. You might have died had I not finally come to my senses. I should have—” 

Elrohir stemmed the flow of words with a lengthy kiss. When he drew back, he placed a finger to the other’s lips. “Think no more of that, _meleth nîn_ ”—my love—he murmured with a serene smile. “‘Tis past and done with.” 

Comforted by the balming tenderness of his Twilight’s smile, the prince nevertheless felt compelled to voice his regrets.

“I am so sorry, Elrohir,” he murmured sadly. “I was so blind. I wasted so many years that could have been ours.”

“Hush,” the Elf-knight gently chided. “‘Tis past.”

“You are much too noble, _seron vell_ ”—beloved—the prince said.

“Yet, I, too, must beg forgiveness from you,” the Elf-knight sighed.

“For what?” Legolas asked in surprise.

“For being unfaithful to you,” Elrohir somberly replied. At Legolas’s bewildered reaction, he quietly added, “I broke my vow of fidelity to you when I took Gilwen to my bed.” 

Legolas’s eyes widened. Though a pang of jealousy smote his heart, he swiftly dismissed it as unworthy. “I drove you to it,” he objected. “Besides, I did not even know you had bound yourself to me.”

“Which is still no excuse for betraying one’s spouse.”

“I do not consider it a betrayal at all,” Legolas declared.

“We have both committed transgressions against each other,” Elrohir pointed out gently. “If you do not hold mine against me, why should I hold yours against you? I would rather look to the future now that we are one.”

After several moments’ reflection, Legolas nodded. Feeling Elrohir’s embrace weave closer around him, he snuggled eagerly into his arms. “Never leave me, Aduial,” he whispered.

“I will always be with you,” the twin softly replied.

A contented sigh escaped the prince’s lips. He nestled his head against Elrohir’s neck, keeping his arm firmly curled around the darkling Elf’s waist. Soon, he was drifting into slumber. 

Sated, deliriously happy, Elrohir blessed his dear Greenleaf’s temple with a tender kiss. For better or worse, come what may, now and forever, Legolas was finally his. 

**********************************  
Glossary:  
ellyn – male Elves  
gwanur – brother or sister but a more accurate translation would be ‘kinsman’ or kinswoman’ 

_To be continued…_


	21. XX. Beyond Compare

Eryn Lasgalen, _Nárbeleth_ F.A. 22  
The newly bound pair followed Elladan and Nimeithel to Greenwood that autumn. Travelling north by the east-ways, their progress was swifter than usual, which suited Legolas just fine. He knew better than to make his father wait overlong for a visit once he received news of their binding from his daughter and older law-son.

As it was, Thranduil would surely demand an explanation from his favorite son for his precipitate decision. Not that Legolas regretted it in any way. The very recitation of the nuptial vows had given him a sense of serenity and security he’d never known before.

He glanced at his dark-haired spouse. No longer was there any trace of the grief that had near consumed Elrohir to fading. He was as radiant and lusty as the day Legolas first laid eyes on him. Nonetheless, the archer still remembered with sharp resonance how he had almost lost so beloved a soul. Hence his determination to bind to him soonest.

He had not wasted any time setting aright what he had so nearly brought to ruin. No longer would he permit his Elf-knight to suffer needlessly. And he’d finally laid claim to what his heart and spirit had long desired but which he had denied in his stubborn, misguided fear. 

They were not alone on the journey. Elladan had sent a small contingent of Imladrin and Greenwood soldiers to augment their escort. There had been reports of orkish activity once more in the Hithaeglir and the older twin did not care to take chances. Daurin, Glorfindel’s former second-in-command and now captain of Rivendell’s warriors, headed the troop. 

As a result, the trip proved not only rapid but uneventful as well. That there were orcs who had thought to ambush them was not in any doubt. But the sight of a goodly number of well-armed warrior Elves proved a most effective deterrent. 

Their arrival in Eryn Lasgalen was momentous to say the least. Legolas could not help wincing at the number of Elves that gathered in the clearing before the delved halls to welcome him home and ogle his binding-mate as well. For though Elrohir was as familiar a figure in the woodland realm as his twin, his espousal to Legolas, the first between two _ellyn_ in the royal family itself, drew the curiosity and wonder of most if not all the folk of this forest kingdom. 

While not all the Elves of Greenwood were fully at ease with the reintroduction of the old ways into their realm, none begrudged those who sought to tread this road to their happiness or the freedom to seek it. Therefore, while it would take some time for those who still felt wary of the changes to become wholly comfortable with them, none looked askance at their prince’s love for the Elvenlord. They might still approach the ancient path more slowly and cautiously than their counterparts in other elven domains but they no longer shunned it. 

His father did not stand on ceremony but swept him into his arms as soon as he dismounted. This was immediately followed by a warm embrace for his newest child-by-law. Only when he had properly welcomed them did the other shoe drop.

“And what were you thinking, espousing yourself without your family in attendance?” Thranduil demanded of his son. “I had not thought I would miss _your_ binding of all my children!” 

Legolas meekly replied: “Forgive me, _Ada_ , but I did this to keep Elrohir from further suffering.” He glanced at his Elf-knight, a flicker of regret in his eyes. “I kept him waiting far too long as it is.”

Thranduil snorted. “Aye, that you did, _ion nîn_ ”—my son—he chided. “I had wondered if you would ever discover what was right under your nose. Or if you would have the sense to appreciate it.” 

Legolas turned a bright red at his sire’s unexpected response while to his right, Elrohir carefully suppressed a smile though his eyes danced with delight. His mirth was mirrored in his brother and law-sister’s faces as they, too, strove to maintain their composure. Yet that was near impossible when beside them, Melthoron and Brethildor were softly chortling at their youngest brother’s discomfiture.

“I will admit to blindness,” Legolas managed to say as he glared at his older siblings. 

“Not to mention willfulness and a determination to stick to your chosen path however absurd it may have been,” Thranduil mildly reproached him. “And do not say I did not counsel you for I did have words with you before you departed for Ithilien.”

Melthoron looked at his father in surprise. “Why, _Adar_ , what did you say to him?”

Thranduil shrugged elegantly. “Only that ignorance of the truth would bring him naught but useless heartache.” He regarded Legolas somewhat sternly. “And I was right, was I not? To have one’s heart broken after it has known bliss is undeniably painful. But for it to break out of loneliness... that is a greater tragedy.” 

He softened and cupped his son’s chin with affection. “I am only relieved that you will not be alone any longer, Legolas,” he quietly said. “I had feared that you would never know the joys of sharing your life with another. With Elrohir.”

Elrohir gazed at his law-father with amazement. “Thank you, _Adar_ ,” he softly said.

But Legolas stared at his sire in astonishment. “You desired this?” 

“I would not be much of a father if I did not wish only the best for my children, now would I?” the Elvenking pointed out. He suddenly grinned, casting regal dignity aside. “And knowing how stubborn you can be, I warrant only Elrohir would ever be willing to put up with you for eternity!”

This time the others gave in to their mirth while Legolas could only frown at them. But his displeasure was swiftly dispersed when Elrohir put a soothing arm around his waist and said, “I would not have you any other way, Calenlass.” 

Elladan’s muffled groan drew a collective smirk from the family. Thranduil chuckled then inquired of Elrohir: “But how is Arwen and her new babe? Another daughter I understand.”

Elrohir smiled. “They are well, sire, though I never expected to deliver my own sister’s infant the morning after my binding.”

“Well, thank Eru she did not birth in the middle of the ceremony,” Legolas said. “‘Twas my greatest fear.”

“And your king-brother? How is he weathering fathering yet another maid-child?”

This time Elrohir had to guffaw. “Not very well at all,” he snickered. “He loves them all dearly but he now dreads having to guard each and every one’s virtue.”

Thranduil had to smile, remembering when he’d been over-protective of his only daughter. He addressed Legolas. “I have had your quarters enlarged and refurbished now that you are wed. I suggest you and Elrohir take your rest. I expect you to join us for dinner.” As an afterthought, he added: “And I expect you to be punctual!”

Legolas colored anew at his father’s meaning and shook his head as he watched his sire stride back into his halls, his older sons in tow.

“I cannot quite believe this,” he remarked. “I did not expect it at all.”

Elladan chuckled. “You do not give your father enough credit then.”

It was then that an Elf stepped into the archer’s line of vision. He sucked in his breath as he recognized the Rivendell warrior Enedrion. 

Legolas tensed as Enedrion approached Daurin. More than two hundred years ago he had witnessed the painful parting of ways between the two Elves. He wondered how the two had got along especially after Daurin married the reason for their parting. Therefore, he was understandably taken aback when Daurin smiled at Enedrion and drew him into his arms in the manner of a lover relieved to be home. And he was even more surprised when the embrace was fervently returned. 

The prince stared after the two Elves as they walked away, Daurin’s arm around Enedrion’s shoulders in an obviously possessive manner. He turned to look incredulously at the twins.

“But he is wed to Almáriel!” he blurted out.

Elrohir shook his head. “Did I not tell you? Daurin and Almáriel had a most spectacular quarrel right after you departed on the Quest.”

"'Twas about the most inconsequential matter. We cannot even recall what it was they fought about,” added Elladan. “But it was so severe that they broke their betrothal even before we left to join you in Rohan.”

“Hence his return to Enedrion,” finished Elrohir.

Legolas let his breath out in disbelief. “And is Daurin certain about his choice now?” he asked somewhat skeptically. “I would have thought that Enedrion would be wary of entrusting his heart once more to such fickleness.”

Elladan grinned. “Oh, but he was, Legolas. He made Daurin labor long and hard to regain his trust!”

"'Twas truly entertaining to watch Daurin in his toils,” Elrohir chuckled. “I doubt there has ever been a more difficult wooing than that which our good captain had to undertake.”

“Save yours,” Legolas murmured, with a sidelong glance at his mate. 

Elrohir smiled. “And like Daurin I have found my reward,” he chuckled softly. “Though I count myself the more blessed.”

Elladan sighed in mock exasperation as the two shared an all too familiar look. Nimeithel, however, looked patently puzzled. But then she did not know about the incident that had once parted the Imladrin warriors. 

“Would you care to explain to me what you are talking about?” she pointedly requested of her husband. 

Elladan laughed softly and slid an arm around her waist. “Come, _meleth nîn_ , I will tell you the tale,” he said. “I wager these two would like some privacy anyway. Never have I known other Elves who would tumble into bed at the slightest excuse!”

“You were no laggard either when you and Nimeithel were newly wed,” retorted Legolas, scowling in response to his sister’s giggles.

“Ai, but we were still getting to know each other back then,” Elladan countered virtuously. “You, on the other hand, already _know_ all that there is to know about each other! What reason have either of you to be so eager?”

“No different from yours, brother,” Elrohir shot back. “Newly wedded you may have been but newly bedded, nay! Think you I did not mark your empty bed when we visited Greenwood? I wager you frequented a certain Elf-maiden’s chambers instead!”

It was Elladan’s and Nimeithel’s turn to redden while Legolas stared at them in shock. 

“You were bedding my sister all those years?” he bellowed, oblivious of the Elves around them. 

“Now, now, _tôr vell_ ”—dear brother—Nimeithel laughed nervously. “You and Elrohir did much the same thing after all.”

"'Twas not the same thing, _thel neth_!”—younger sister—Legolas fumed. 

Elladan rolled his eyes and muttered, “Thank you, _gwanneth_ , you’ve really done it this time!”

“Don’t I always?” Elrohir sweetly responded. Taking Legolas by the arm, he said, “The field was plowed long ere anyone suspected, Calenlass.” 

Grinning, he watched as Nimeithel hastily hustled Elladan away to the relative safety of their bedchamber. He added roguishly, making sure his voice carried to his brother, “Believe it not when they claim temperance now. I warrant they are as eager for bed as we are and on the slightest excuse as well.”

Seeing the tips of Elladan’s ears turn an improbable shade of red more than eased Legolas’s fit of pique. He chuckled then turned to Elrohir, one darkly golden eyebrow raised in question.

“As eager as we are?” he smirked. 

Elrohir turned gleaming silver eyes on him. “Always, _melethron_ ,” he huskily informed him. And with a salacious grin, he purposefully led Legolas to their own chamber. 

Two evenings later, Elladan came to their room bearing a rather large package. As soon as Elrohir saw it, his eyes lit with elation.

“Is this it?” he asked.

“Aye, it just arrived,” Elladan affirmed. “I sent for it as soon as I read your letter.”

Legolas watched the brethren curiously as Elladan handed the package over to Elrohir. His eyes widened as the younger twin eased out a thick leather-bound artist’s sketchbook; it looked awfully familiar. Elrohir swiftly leafed through the pages then stopped and beamed happily. Glancing up at Legolas, he turned the book around and presented it to the prince.

Legolas caught his breath in wonder. There, still well preserved after three thousand years, was the charcoal sketch Elrohir had drawn of him after that bracing swim in the Bruinen during his first visit to Rivendell. The picture captured the Elf-prince in all his youthful beauty and grace as he idly leaned back against a willow wearing naught but his breeches, his shining hair falling about his neck and shoulders like molten tendrils of gold. The tender attention to detail, the almost worshipful rendering of the image betrayed all too clearly in hindsight what had not been readily apparent at the time. He looked up at Elrohir, his eyes glistening tellingly.

“Even then you loved me,” he whispered. 

Elrohir nodded. “But even I did not realize it at the time,” he murmured.

“I did,” Elladan remarked softly. “Though you denied it, _gwanneth_ , I suspected your feelings ran deeper than mere affection for a dear friend.”

Elrohir smiled at his twin. “Aye, you did. And well do I remember your insinuations at the time.” 

He looked back at Legolas when the other took his hand. The prince wordlessly pulled him into his arms and held him tight. With a fond grin, Elladan quietly took his leave.

oOoOoOo

The next few days found the newlyweds out in the forest with a hunting party. Thranduil was not about to let Legolas’s espousal go uncelebrated and so a great banquet was to take place in a few days time. The hunters had been tasked to procure game for the feast. Missing the thrill of the chase in the thickly packed green wood, Legolas and Elrohir eagerly joined the party.

Now they were on their way back bearing a plentiful supply of game. The evening would see this bounty gracing the banquet table when the Elvenking feted his youngest son and law-son. 

The group stopped for the noonday meal by a sparkling stream. A simple repast of bread and cheese and fruit was passed around and flasks of wine and ale were produced to quench their thirsts. Elrohir glanced up at Legolas as the prince placed a hand on his shoulder. A simple gesture communicated the fair-haired Elf’s desire. 

Elrohir smiled, rose to his feet and followed him, both of them slipping away so discreetly few marked their going. Like all lately espoused couples, they oft sought to spend time alone in each other’s company. That Legolas frequently initiated such moments was a source of felicity for Elrohir considering all the uncertainty of their tumultuous courtship. 

They settled within shouting distance of the other Elves in a small glade near the other end of the stream. They ate quietly, enjoying each other’s company even without the benefit of steady conversation. But when they finished their meal, the Elven prince suddenly spoke up. 

“Elrohir.”

“Hmm?”

The archer took a deep breath. “I have never told you this for in my idiocy I feared the power my admission might give you over me. But after seeing that sketch once more and knowing how you felt even so long ago... I can no longer hide this from you.”

Elrohir regarded him gravely. “And what secret is this?”

The look Legolas cast at him took his breath away. It was soft and yielding and utterly loving. “Do you remember our very first time in Mirkwood?” he said.

“How could I forget?” Elrohir smiled. “Every detail of that night is engraved in my memory.”

“I would say the same for myself,” Legolas replied. “And every other time you loved me that week and all the times thereafter up to this day.” He watched a sable eyebrow rise in surprise. “Even the one instance when you nearly took me by force.”

“That is one instance I would rather not recall,” Elrohir admitted with a grimace. 

“Yet even that memory I cherish,” the prince said in a low voice. Elrohir started then stared at him in shock. The golden-haired Elf turned rather rosy. He reached for Elrohir’s hand. “I told you long ago that I had learned to desire the pleasure you gave me. Do you recall that?” he said, suddenly sounding quite shy. Elrohir nodded, wondering what the archer was leading up to. “That was not quite the whole truth,” Legolas murmured. “All these centuries, ‘twas not the pleasure that I desired but— but you, Elrohir.”

Elrohir went utterly still at his mate’s confession. Turning even more scarlet at the Elf-knight’s surprisingly impassive countenance, Legolas went on as bravely as he could manage. “I have never known such joy and ecstasy as I have experienced in your arms. I do not know what you do to me. I only know that you alone can undo me even with a look or a word or a simple touch. Not any of the maids I have ever lain with or any _ellon_ that sought my favor has done this to me.” 

Elrohir smiled faintly. “‘Tis flattering that you think thusly of me. But mayhap the comparison is not fair. A maid’s loving is vastly different from a male’s; more silk than steel you might say. And as for other _ellyn_ , you have never lain with another. How can you compare any with me?”

Legolas shook his head. “The loving of a maid is not quite the same, aye, but if ‘tis mere skill we speak of, my response should not be much different. Yet it is. And as for other _ellyn_ , I desired none other than you. Not even in Lórien did I wish to bed another though their warriors are admittedly among the most beauteous in Middle-earth. I simply did not crave male-flesh unless ‘twas yours.” He paused, wondering about Elrohir’s thoughtful expression. “Only you educed these feelings, Aduial, and I found it frightening. And so I denied it... even to myself.” 

“And now?” 

“Now I long for your presence, your nearness. ‘Tis even more frightening to be without your love, without your loving,” the archer replied. “I know ‘tis late in coming but I would have you know this, _melethen_.”

Elrohir fell silent for a space. Legolas wondered if he had offended his mate by admitting he had not fully trusted him. But the twin began to stroke his palm soothingly with his thumb and the gesture eased the prince’s anxiety.

At length, Elrohir looked at him, his grey eyes sparkling with a strange light. “I did know it,” he said finally. “Not in our earlier encounters, nay; that truly surprises me. But from the moment you responded to my kiss on Mindolluin, I knew then that your body was mine to do with as I pleased even when your heart remained guarded.”

It was the archer’s turn to stare in surprise. Elrohir smiled slightly. “I knew it but I did not wish your desire to be your sole reason to be with me. I wanted you to come to me in love. And I wanted your love unfettered by doubts or conditions.”

Legolas let his breath out slowly. “You always did know me so well.”

“Not always,” Elrohir gently demurred. “I was not sure if your willingness to lie with me was out of mere lust or unbidden love. I never was certain until you told me.”

“Another admission late in coming,” Legolas murmured. “I was such a fool.” 

Elrohir shook his head. “You were afraid. ‘Twas but natural for you to hide your feelings from me. The one thing I find fault with is that you did not trust me not to use them against you. I would remind you that I was your friend and brother ere I was your lover.”

Legolas nodded and bit his lip. “I will not forget that again,” he said. “I only wish I had been wiser. You would not have had to wait so long for me to open my heart to you.”

“I did not mind. As long as I had hope, I was willing to wait.” 

Legolas gazed at him with wonder. Recalling how Elrohir gave up when he _had_ lost hope, he felt a shiver of fear at what had nearly happened followed by a wave of relief at what had eventually come to pass. 

“Thank the Powers you did!” he said fervently.

Elrohir found himself on his back on the grass with an armful of doting Elf atop him. He softly laughed as the prince scattered light, warm kisses on his face and neck before his laughter was cut off by a considerably warmer and deeper caress to his lips. The warrior’s eyes gleamed as the archer drew slightly away.

“If you do not wish for me to take you here and now, you had best desist, my prince,” he said warningly.

Legolas chuckled. “We are but a short distance from the others,” he said scoffingly. “Even you would not dare.”

“If you believe that then you do not know me that well after all,” the twin countered, with a squeeze to the princely rear for emphasis. 

Legolas stared down at him, suddenly uncertain. Now wary, he hastily pushed up and moved off the Elf-lord to rise to his feet. But as he did so, his leg inadvertently brushed Elrohir’s groin. The twin tensed as his body reacted to the contact. Legolas compounded his error by turning away and bending over to pick up their drinking flasks and the remains of their meal. In doing so, he presented a view to the twin that proved all too irresistible. 

Uttering a muffled curse, Elrohir threw restraint to the figurative wind and gave in to the exigencies of the moment.

Legolas half yelped as he was hauled back down by the waist. Landing atop Elrohir once more, he was summarily silenced by a devouring kiss. Legolas gasped against the Elf-knight’s lips as nimble fingers efficiently and swiftly yanked off his belt, undid clasps, tore at lacings and tugged at loops, all while he was still sprawled over him and their mouths sealed together. How Elrohir accomplished this feat he would never know nor did he have enough coherent thought to figure it out.

He was rolled over, his shirt and tunic flung open and his breeches and boots unceremoniously yanked off before he had time to take more than a couple of ragged breaths. Slipping between his stunned spouse’s outspread legs, Elrohir did not bother to take off his own breeches but simply freed himself of their constraint. 

Bestowing a wicked smile on the shocked prince, he slipped his hands under the royal bottom and, lifting it purposefully, said, “You should know better than to present such a temptation to me, Calenlass. _This_ fairly begs to be pillaged and I am of no mind to refuse.” 

The sounds of merriment seemed overly, awfully near as Elrohir made good his threat and took him within earshot of the other hunters. Between frantically stifling his passionate moans and desperately praying no one would stumble upon them, Legolas found himself seriously befuddled and bereft of clear purpose. 

Mercifully, his prayers were answered and no one wandered into the vicinity though he only barely managed to strangle a rough cry as the Elf-knight delivered him into breath-stealing rapture. And then he was groaning with delight as he felt the familiar and oh so sensual sensation of Elrohir’s heated release spilling deep within him. 

After they had both calmed down a bit, Elrohir lay on his back and pulled Legolas into his arms that the prince might rest his head on his shoulder. Legolas pressed closer, for the moment uncaring of his state of dishabille, conscious only of a lovely sense of well-being. Who would have imagined he could enjoy an unexpected joining under such unsecured circumstances and one that had been so peremptorily imposed upon him? The last notion yanked him out of his musings.

He jerked up his tousled head and stared at Elrohir. The Elf-knight looked back at him, a dark eyebrow going up in inquiry. 

“You-you have never done this before!” Legolas said in disbelief. “You have always sought my willingness first, even that one time when you near forced me.” 

A slow smile lit up the warrior’s face. “You were not mine before,” he simply said.

Legolas drew his breath in sharply. “You did not feel you had the right?” 

“I did _not_ have the right,” Elrohir averred. “Until you gave me your heart, I could not take more liberties with you than you were willing to allow me.” He stroked one flushed cheek with his knuckles then tucked a gold strand behind an ear. “To take you against your desire would have been a flagrant abuse of your trust.”

The prince gazed at him with reverent wonder. The depth and purity of Elrohir’s love made him feel more blessed than he’d ever thought possible. 

“Others would have had no scruples had they thought me vulnerable,” he softly said. “But you...” Emotion swept over him in an overwhelming wave and he pulled the Elf-knight tightly to him, letting his affection and joy wash over the other until Elrohir was quite overcome. His grey eyes glittered brightly when the archer released him. 

“What is it?” Legolas queried softly. 

“I was wondering,” Elrohir whispered. “Is it possible for an Elf to die of too much happiness?”

He was rewarded with the sweetest of smiles and the warmest of kisses.

Their departure had largely gone unmarked. Their return did not. It could not be for they radiated so much bliss that they could not fail to attract attention. And the glow of satisfaction and intimacy around them was such that only the most obtuse Elf would not have realized what had passed between them. Surreptitious grins were seen to form on most faces at this patent evidence of the two princes’ devotion to each other. Others managed tolerant smiles at the very least.

After all, what Elf could long resist the charm of such deep and heartfelt happiness and contentment? 

**********************************  
Glossary:  
Narbeleth – Sindarin for October  
ellon (pl. ellyn) – male Elf  
meleth nîn, melethen – my love  
gwanneth – younger twin  
melethron – male lover

_To be continued…_


	22. Epilogue - Knight's Reward

Late into the night, they lounged before the fire in their bedchamber, Elrohir going over various correspondence while Legolas read a book. Still wound up from the festivities of the evening, they had made themselves comfortable on the couch that fronted the hearth. Elrohir sat, half-sprawled in the center of the couch. Legolas lay across, his head against one armrest, long legs propped up on Elrohir’s own. Eventually, their bed would beckon and both knew their loving would be long and slow and sweet. But for now they were content to simply relax and enjoy the quiet. 

After a while, Legolas closed his book with a snap and sighed. Elrohir glanced up at him from the missive he was reading and noted the wistful expression on the other’s face. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

Legolas shook his head slowly. “Nay, I only recalled a certain night during the Quest,” he replied. “‘Twas when we were pursuing the orcs that had taken Merry and Pippin. Aragorn and Gimli sought a few hours of rest while I stood watch.” He paused, his expression thoughtful. “I looked up at the night sky and beheld Menelvagor shining brightly above. Yet ‘twas not the heavenly swordsman I saw but one closer at hand and infinitely dearer to my heart.”

“Estel,” Elrohir offered, looking at him curiously, wondering why he saw fit to mention it. “I am not surprised. He is one of the finest swordsmen in Middle-earth.”

“Aye, he is,” Legolas agreed, “but ‘twas not Aragorn I saw that night. ‘Twas you, Elrohir.” At the Elvenlord’s surprise, he said, “Your face, your form, your demeanor in battle. Even then, my heart was already attempting to tell me where it lay but I would not listen. Do you recall what Nimeithel said in Eryn Gael? She was right. I refused to heed my heart and set my sights on Aragorn instead though he was not free. Because he was already pledged to Arwen, _I_ would stay free. I was such a want-wit that I nearly lost you and all chances at happiness.”

Elrohir regarded him for a moment then smiled gently. “This seems to be a day for confessions from you, my prince. But as to this last, you were only being yourself and I do not recall vowing to love only the parts of you I desire but even those I could do without,” he added with a grin. 

Legolas had to return the grin though he sobered quickly. “She was right in yet another matter,” he murmured. 

“Which matter is this?”

“That I cared not for Aragorn’s touch even when I thought myself besotted with him. I hid behind the claim of not wanting to betray Arwen when in truth I did not feel desire for him.”

Elrohir cocked a curious eye at him. “Why did you hide behind the claim?”

“Because I could not conceive of loving him and not wanting him as well,“ Legolas admitted. 

“And if you did not want him, then it was likely you did not love him after all,” Elrohir finished for him. “And you could not give up what you had decided would be the truth for you.” He shook his head, the corners of his lips quirking upwards. “Your sister put it quite aptly. You really can be mule-headed.”

Legolas bit his lip. He swung his feet down to the floor and sat up beside Elrohir. “I regret that now,” he said softly. “We could have been together long ago.” 

“Don’t, Legolas,” Elrohir reproved gently. “What happened then is no longer of the essence. We are together now.”

“Nevertheless, I would have all doubts put to rest once and for all.”

“There is no need. As I promised you, the past was laid to rest when you bound yourself to me before Estel. I have no doubts. Not anymore.”

Legolas lifted his eyes to meet the twin’s gaze and said quietly, “But _I_ do.” At Elrohir’s startled reaction, he continued, “Not about my love for you but about my worth. You always treat me like a treasure worth fighting for. As if I were some precious heirloom that you would protect with your very life. Yet ‘tis you who is the treasure and I do not know if I deserve you. You offered me your love, endured my thickheaded folly, and led me patiently to this joy. I... I am not certain if I am worthy of you, Elrohir.”

Elrohir pulled him into his arms, let the prince lean his head on his shoulder. “You have always been worthy,” he whispered. “Else I could not have remained steadfast. I desire no other, Calenlass. Only you.” 

His words were like a benediction to the archer. Legolas felt his spirit respond to the other’s with bliss and belonging. Secure in the Elvenlord’s embrace, the woodland prince snuggled even closer, closed his eyes and happily breathed in his Elf-knight’s singular scent. 

“I love you so much,” he murmured. “ _Garo ind nîn, Aduial, si a an-uir._ “ 

Have my heart, Twilight, now and forever.

Elrohir smiled at the heartfelt avowal. Eternity could be wearying to the elven soul unless one had a love to share the never-ending years with. He was overwhelmed with gratitude to the Powers for opening his Legolas’s heart to him. Would that the light of the Valar shine upon them and their love always. 

********************************  
Glossary:  
Menelvagor - Sindarin for the constellation of Orion

_End of Part XXI._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Part XXII: Storm Kissed – A sudden squall hits Rivendell and leads Elrohir and Legolas down memory lane._


End file.
